Jubes japery

ALWAYS first with a royal exclusive, the Diary recently revealed that in Scotland the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee is referred to by many insolent commoners as the platty jubes.

We’re attempting to find out if Her Maj has been made aware of this treasonous state of affairs, and have been on the blower to our main Palace contact, a gregarious Corgi called Chatty Dave.

Unfortunately Dave’s not barking. In other words, he’s keeping mum about ma’am.

Though we have discovered that an increasing number of people are uncomfortable with the platty jubes terminology.

For we learn of one chap who thinks it sounds like the sort of disease that is transmitted in the boudoir by a rascally bloke with a roving eye, leading to the complaint: "I broke up with him after he gave me platty jubes."

Dram good advice

WE mentioned that the Diary office still uses ancient typewriters which are apt to rust, and are only kept in reasonable working order by the application of a single malt whisky, drizzled over the typewriter keys every morning.

It seems we’re not the only ones to indulge in such lubricious behaviour. Reader John Robertson says: “I use a single malt to feed the grass on my lawn. Obviously I drink it first.”

Bailing on BoJo

POLITICALLY-SAVVY Gordon Casely has devised the perfect slogan for post-Partygate Conservatives wanting Boris out of No 10… Get Exit Done.

Shopper suckered

A READER’S account of a curious art gallery discovery reminds Stuart Swanston from Edinburgh of visiting an exhibition by an American conceptual artist at a gallery in Geneva.

Stuart was carrying a bag of groceries from a supermarket, and decided to place it beside other carrier bags in a corner of the reception area, there being no locker facilities for visitors.

The receptionist was horrified and offered to keep the messages behind her desk.

It transpired that Stuart had plonked his carrier bag next to ones which formed one of the exhibits.

Frying tonight

THE news that Glasgow’s Little Curry House is serving Mars Bar pakora, a fresh iteration on the deep-fried Mars Bar genre, impresses reader Bruce Reeves.

“Is there anything our nation won’t deep-fry?” he marvels. “I’m now looking forward to deep-fried soup.”

Constructive advice

AMBITIOUS reader Scott Hall went for a job interview at IKEA. The manager said: “Come in, make a seat.”

Monetary matters

“HOW many right-wing economists does it take to fix a lightbulb?” asks reader Daphne Morris. “None. If it’s broke, the market will fix it.”

Read more: The Platinum name that went down like a lead balloon