A PAL of reader Stephen O’Neill owned a villa in the Majorca mountains. This chap was fond of imbibing a certain illicit type of tobacco. He would while away his days strumming his guitar and "reefering" (which is what Stephen’s mum called this activity).

The bloke’s nickname was the Eternal Flame, though Stephen never understood why until, after much cajoling, his pals explained it was because he never went out.

Stinging retort

AN unlikely tale from reader Tom Pickford, who says he went into a pet store and requested five bees. The cashier gave him six, and Tom asked her why. “The sixth one is a freebee,” she explained.

Papering over the cracks

IN the 1930s toilet rolls were a luxury poorer households couldn’t afford, recalls Rob Hailstones from Millport. Instead, they used what came to hand… newspapers. In those days the Evening Citizen or the Bulletin was cut into eight inch squares strung on a length of string, then used as required. With luck two editions lasted a family a week. “It was free, disposable and something to read during the visit,” says Rob.

And most importantly? According to Rob’s story, the suave and sophisticated Herald newspaper was never subjected to this indignity.

French Faff

JUST when you thought it was safe to return to the Diary without use of a French/English dictionary, we surprise you with another Francophile phunny, courtesy of Terry McGeary, from East Kilbride. “I thought for a change I would try baking some French bread,” says Terry. “It was a real pain to make.”

Face facts

“I’VE just installed a new app on my phone that lets me know which of my friends are racist,” explains reader Nick Martin, who adds: “It’s called Facebook.”

Musical mint

ON learning his girlfriend liked the bagpipes, reader Neil Mitchell took her to a recital of that very instrument. Instead of delighting in the musical feast, she requested they leave during the intermission. A concerned Neil asked his partner what was wrong. “Bagpipes are like an After Eight mint,” she informed him. “A wee sliver? Yum! But a chubby After Eight? Now I’m gonna boke.”

Ref knows best

A HERALD photograph of the football referee Tiny Wharton reminded Amy Kinnaird, from Ochiltree, of a clash her late husband David Kinnaird had with the official. In the 1950s David was a stalwart of Muirkirk Juniors and latterly Cumnock Juniors. During one game Tiny Wharton pulled him up for a misdemeanour. On producing his notebook and pencil, the all-knowing official said to the culprit: "What's your name, Kinnaird?”

Road to ruin

SILLY joke time. “A bloke walks into a bar carrying a chunk of tarmac,” reader Mort Johnson explains. “He turns to the bartender and says: ‘Give me a beer. And one for the road'.”