THE modern world can be a disorientating place to visit, which is why the Diary rarely gets its passport stamped in that exotic location.

Reader David Donaldson is much less trepidatious, which explains how he found himself visiting Absolute Roasters cafe in Hyndland Street, Glasgow, the other day, where he spotted four well-dressed young women assembled at a nearby table, chattering brightly.

They all opened their Apple Macs, then attempted to prop up two of their phones at the next table. This second task proved tricky. David, assuming they wanted a group-selfie, proffered his help.

"No thanks" said one of the ladies. "We're making a time-lapse movie."

Unfortunate fortune

A BOASTFUL Malcolm Boyd, from Milngavie, gets in touch to share his good fortune with us (Though rather frustratingly it transpires that he’s not actually giving us a chunk of his fortune. Just telling us about it).

“My cousin died and I was told he’d left me a stately home,” trills Malcolm. “I’m over the moon, even though I’m not exactly sure where Sod Hall is”

Bricking it

BOWLS. Such a gentle and genial pastime. Though not always, clarifies reader Jim Morrison, who was at Whiteinch Indoor Bowling Club, Glasgow, last week when one irate competitor on rink eight harrumphed to the chap on rink seven: "Will you please stop interrupting our game. Just imagine there’s a brick wall between us."

To which the bowler on rink seven harrumphed back: "Talking to you is like talking to a brick wall, anyway."

Letter line-up

WE’RE discussing the pros and cons of skipping queues (After a great deal of research and number crunching we’ve arrived at the earth-shattering conclusion that it is deeply satisfying to skip a queue, though not quite so satisfying to be standing in a queue that’s being skipped).

Meanwhile, Jim Hamilton, from Carmunnock, Glasgow, adds to our vast suppository of knowledge on this topic by pointing out: “Queue is such an interesting word. One letter is pronounced, with four more standing in line waiting their turn.”

Naughty note

WE continue advising aspiring writers. Gordon Fisher, from Stewarton, spent years submitting articles to magazines and websites, though made little dosh. Then everything changed.

“I’m well placed to share with wannabe scribes a market which I’ve found to be an exceedingly rich seam of revenue,” says Gordon proudly, who adds: “Ransom notes.”

Top-level temping

WITH the sacking of Sir Tom Scholar as Permanent Secretary to the Treasury, Ian Noble, from Carstairs Village, sensibly concludes the new incumbent should be called the (not so) Permanent Secretary.