Water win

FOR some unfathomable reason many Scots are now boasting of their previously-unmentioned Hungarian heritage. Surely this has nothing to do with a certain 4-0 drubbing of the English footy team.

The Diary, on the other hand, has genuinely impeccable Hungarian affiliations. When scribbling notes, we often use the sort of pen that was invented by Budapest-born Laszlo Biro.

Meanwhile, on social media Scots are magnanimously commiserating with their southern neighbours. One commentator writes: "England: the same amount of major tournament wins in the last 50 years as Scotland, but with worse tap water."

Trivial pursuit

THE Diary recently mentioned our burning desire to nab a copy of the American edition of a certain novel by Glasgow crime scribe Denise Mina. The writing in the book is probably terrific, though what attracts us is the lurid purple dust jacket.

We’ve now stumbled upon a second book we feverishly covet: Glitterati, by Glasgow Uni writing tutor Oliver K. Langmead.

The reason we’re obsessed? A review of the tome in a popular sci-fi mag, which described it as being "supremely ridiculous in its triviality".

Actually, the Diary is now feeling a tad jealous. That’s the sort of compliment people usually only aim at us…

Hard cell

WAITING for a taxi opposite Glasgow’s Central Station, reader Neil Barrett spotted an elderly, well-dressed lady being helped into the vehicle at the front of the queue by the cabby.

While doing so, he said to his passenger: “Let me guess. Ye want a ride tae the Bar-L tae visit a' yer accomplices?”

The lady was not amused. “Newton Mearns, please,” she firmly corrected.

Flight of fancy

PRITI Patel’s attempt to whisk a planeload of refugees to Rwanda didn’t go smoothly. Reader Brian Marshall says: “I’m sure the Home Secretary will devise a backup plan that’s equally rational, feasible and humane. I’m looking forward to her commissioning a broomstick to fly those poor souls to the moon.”

There’s the rub

A PAL of reader Jim Morrison went for a massage, then later complained that he wouldn’t be returning for another.

“Why?” inquired Jim.

“The guy just rubbed me up the wrong way,” said his pal.

Cutting comment

HAVING discovered that robots with Glasgow accents have been built for use in the boudoir, we’re now figuring out what these amorous automatons should be programmed to say. Russell Smith from Largs suggests: “Sorry. Not tonight. Power cut.”

Heated discussion

“I TRY to avoid making blanket statements,” says reader Laura Jones, “though duvets are warmer than quilts.”

Read more: The call of the wildly infuriated