Pretty boy, Fluffles
AS this is the beginning of a new year, many frumpy, flabby folk will be joining a gym, in the hope of honing their bodies into a series of flat planes and sharp angles, so they can resemble one of those brutalist concrete statues that sprouted up in Cumbernauld and East Kilbride back in the 1970s.
The Diary’s team of reporters have no need of gym membership, of course. We’re already a hardy bunch of rugged individualists, with muscles that bulge, throb and ripple.
Even the office budgie, Mr. Fluffles, is ripped. He’s often mistaken for a jaundiced golden eagle, until he gives the game away by squawking: “Who’s a pretty boy?”
We may be a dynamic and athletic bunch, but the Diary team still prefers to exercise the mind rather than the body, which we do by studying the thoughtful tales sent to us by our scholarly contributors, such as the following classic texts from our archives…
Hair-raising escapade
“HAVE you been watching any curling?” asked a chap of his pal on a train into Glasgow.
“I have,” replied his mate, who then continued with the line: “But the hairdresser came out and told me to move away from the window as it was disturbing her customers.”
Lunchtime leader
AN east coast reader recalls when Aberdeen FC were looking for a manager, and a number of names were being touted.
“He was a manager of the month,” argued one footy fan, backing his favourite.
“Only when he worked at McDonald’s,” was the terse reply from his mate.
Loopy lingo
SILLY spelling. A teacher once told us: “During a lesson on descriptive writing, one of my younger pupils had me initially puzzling over an item of furniture in her room called the Chester Draws. Ever since then, the similar piece of furniture in our own bedroom has been called Chester.”
Doubly, doubtfully Daphne
A TALE of the bad old days of scientific chauvinism. A woman in her fifties recalled her old physics teacher.
Said this woman: “There were two girls in the class, and he called us both Daphne. He couldn’t be bothered learning our names, because he thought girls shouldn’t be doing physics.”
Rocker’s rollicking
WE recall the occasion singer Rod Stewart stopped off in Paisley pub the Wee Barrel, en route to Glasgow airport. He autographed one of the pub mirrors with a lipstick… and was told he’d be barred if he did so again.
Bogging decision
WE asked for jury service stories, so a Merchant City reader told us: “The first thing we had to do was choose a foreman, so we quickly picked the guy who had gone to the toilet, and told him when he returned.”
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