Close shave

THE Diary is a stickler when it comes to health and safety. Our team of reporters are ordered to wear seatbelts while sitting at their desks, in case they become overly enthusiastic about what they are typing and rocket from their chairs into the ceiling.

This hasn’t happened yet, and our scientific department assure us that such an event would flout several of Newton’s Laws of Gravity. Though as far as we’re concerned you can never be too careful.

We also stipulate that reporters should wear mittens while sharpening their pencils, so they don’t receive a nasty cut. (Thankfully none of Newton’s Laws has anything important to say about mittens.)

Because the Diary is so careful, we heartily applaud a message we received informing us of a shaving foam fight at St Andrews University next Monday, which is part of a ritual where older students welcome and befriend the first-year intake.

The Diary is invited to join in the foam fight (yippee!) though we must wear a high-viz jacket.

Some journalists might complain that this takes safety specifications too far.

Not us.

In fact, we’re now swithering about requesting a deep sea diving suit plus flippers for our brave reporter.

We wouldn’t want the poor soul to perish by foam…

Birthday blues

IN a West End coffee shop Beryl Miller heard a woman at a nearby table complain piteously to her pal: “I’m 30 next week. Yet I’ve still not had my first divorce or midlife crises.”

Footering about

THIS tale starts out wondrously magical, though unfortunately concludes in prosaic fashion.

“I thought the chiropodist said I had a unicorn,” says John Cochrane. “Then I realised it was a unique corn.”

(Still, we’re sure John was delighted to distinguish himself with a special corn, even if he couldn’t gallop home on a mythical steed after treatment.)

Sciatic silliness

WE smoothly segue from chiropody to chiropractic treatment. Reader Bill Cassidy says: “If you’re interested in chiropractic magazines, I’ve some back issues you can have.”

Lost in translation

ANOTHER yarn involving optimism being squished by disappointment. (We’re forced to conclude that the only part of our readers’ lives that doesn’t end in dismay is their daily dose of Diary delirium.)

Bob Jamieson visited a tapas bar which included "helpful" English translations on the menu.

“I had a Spanish omelette, which was nice,” says Bob.

Still feeling peckish, he ordered meatloaf. And was served a ham sandwich.

Trash talk

“ARE binmen trained?” asks Lee Taylor. “Or do they pick it up as they go along?”


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