Brought to book

TAKE a look at the photograph below. It shows a man leaping in the air. Perhaps he is distressed, and the leap is one of terror. It could be that he has spotted Boris Johnson, and his jump is to avoid being grabbed, then forced to attend this year’s Tory Christmas Party. But that can’t be the case, for the Tories only have ‘alleged’ Christmas parties, never the real thing.

Besides, the chap in the photo is grinning. So his leap is of unfettered delight, not terror.

If we look closer we will note that the chap is gripping a copy of this year’s Herald Diary Book.

Eureka! Now we understand. The photo was sent from a reader who wanted to prove that he had just got his eager mitts on a copy of this worthy tome, which is now available in all good book shops.

Alas, some people still haven’t picked up their copy. For those poor souls we now bring some welcome succour by publishing a few classic tales from our archives.

They may not be included in this year’s Diary Book, though as stories go, the following are still pretty darned entertaining…

The name game

SOME people have the most magnificent monikers. A reader once told us: “My wife, a teacher, came across a girl with the forward-looking name of Tamara Knight.”

Friendly female

WOMEN can sometimes be sharp-tongued about their contemporaries. A Hyndland reader heard two ladies discussing a mutual friend who had apparently dated quite a few chaps in recent years.

“I wouldn’t say she takes a lot of men home,” said one. “But her bedroom is listed on TripAdvisor.”

Take that, Robbie

WE recall when crooner Robbie Williams held a sell-out concert at Glasgow’s Hampden Park. Not everyone in the city was a fan. One reader phoned to say: “I feel sorry for folk who live near Hampden, having to keep their windows closed on such a lovely evening.”

Key to romance

“EVEN after 20 years of marriage my wife’s still a good looker,” said a chap in an Ayrshire golf club. “No matter where I lose my keys, she can always find them.”

Rhyme time

CRIME and punishment, Scotia style… A reader told us about a secondary school teacher in Glasgow in the 1970s called Mr McHugh. Whenever he had to dish out the belt to a number of miscreants he would chant: “Form a queue for Mr McHugh.”

Shoe-in for president

WE recall when student journalist Jamie Ross stood to become president of the Students’ Association at the University of St Andrews with the slogan, “Student elections are pointless,” promising he would spend his election budget on shoes. He also failed to attend the hustings as he had an expiring yoghurt.

He still bagged 1,000 votes – more than any other candidate.

Tragically he was later eliminated on the transferable vote system.

Ladies man?

SOME Glasgow females were discussing their husbands when one opined: “My husband always tells me he could have had any woman he pleased – he just couldn’t please any.”