Trilogy time

OUR readers probably haven’t noticed this week’s train strikes, which are proving to be only a minor inconvenience, similar in impact to a meteorite the size of Cumbernauld landing in the middle of Sauchiehall Street.

Television and theatre writer Ian Pattison says of the situation: “Typical. You wait years for a strike then three come along at once.”

Wimping out

THE aforementioned train strike is just one of the many clues that, as a nation, we have stumbled back into the 1970s.

Other signposts include the shadow of stagflation and Kate Bush topping the hit parade (as we will have to start calling it, now we’re back in the 70s).

Reader Jonathan Etherington wonders what other horrors from that direst of decades are about to return.

With this in mind, he wants the Diary to compile a list of “things in the 70s that were just a bit rubbish”.

For starters, he suggests: “Watching Starsky and Hutch munch hamburgers in their supercool car, and knowing that the closest you’ll get to that experience is being dragged by your mum to Wimpy for fried egg, chips, beans and a Bender sausage.”

Toytown tiff

THE resurgent argy-bargy over Scottish independence is another hangover from the 70s. The eight-year-old daughter of reader Jennifer Brindley is experiencing this drama for the first time, and is properly enthused by the heady prospect of people screeching from every street corner: “It’s Scottish oil!” or “Dinnae forget the Barnett formula!”

Our reader’s daughter has even set up a mock referendum in her bedroom, with her dolls taking opposing sides in the debate.

Says Jennifer: “She’s calling it the Sindy Ref.”

Love hurts

THE sun is making the occasional foray into the Scottish sky, and seasonal beasties are also out and about.

Reader Jan Hewitson says: “Remember, folks. The degree to which you hate midges is typically based on how much midges love you.”

Flight of fancy

ON the subject of wildlife, reader John Cochrane says: “I had a Chinese bird in the garden today. A Ho Ming pigeon.”

Tanking it

HAVING discovered that robots with Glasgow accents have been invented to provide delightful companionship in the boudoir, the Diary is now devising phrases that the amorous automatons can use.

Simon Hammond steamily suggests: “Time tae make me go va-va-voom, babe. Just put two litres o’ Castrol GTX in ma tank.”

Road to success

ENTREPRENEURIAL reader Nathan Weller says: “I’m going to build a website where you can report poorly-maintained footpaths. It’ll be called Trip Advisor.”

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