ADVENTUROUS Stuart Swanston, from Edinburgh, was once hitchhiking through the wilds of rural Pennsylvania when he stumbled upon a small drift coal mine.

A couple of steel storage containers and a trailer were parked in the compound next to the entrance of the mine, and the yard was surrounded by a chain-link fence topped with rolls of barbed wire.

The driver of the car Stuart was in slowed down, allowing Stuart to read the notice on the gate, which sportingly declared: “This compound is patrolled by an armed guard three nights a week. You guess which nights.”

Nod to Rod

THE sad death of gifted guitarist Jeff Beck reminds reader Bob McGonigal of the time the rock icon was at an awards ceremony, and was handed a prize by his old chum and musical collaborator, Celtic fan Rod Stewart.

Nodding at Rod, and with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Jeff said: “Y’know, me and Rod have a love-hate relationship. He loves me and I hate him.”

Food for thought

A QUIRKY query from reader John Cochrane, who asks: “If vegetarians eat vegetables, what do humanitarians eat?”

Moon walk

A TALE about the daft questions that are sometimes asked in Glasgow reminds reader Jim Morrison of a certain Chic Murray anecdote. The legendary comedian was strolling along Sauchiehall Street when he was approached by a wee chap in a bunnet and baggy trousers.

Pointing to the sky, this chap said: “Excuse me, pal. Is that the Moon up there?”

“I don’t know,” replied Chic. “I’m a stranger here, myself.”

Size matters

WE recently published a yarn about a bouncy castle. Ambitious reader Willie Ferguson announces he can go one better, by relating a narrative involving one of those genuine medieval strongholds made of stone and mortar, which therefore do not have to be inflated (Well, you could try. But you’d be out of puff in no time at all).

Anyway, says Willie: “My wife and I once visited Stirling Castle. We were in a queue and a diminutive American chap was speaking rather derogatively about Scotland, Glasgow in particular.

“My Glaswegian wife, becoming tired of his diatribe, said loud enough for everyone to hear: ‘I thought everything was big in America.’”

Gun gone

AN intriguing tale from reader Ian Soutar, who gets in touch to inform us: “There were a bunch of flyers scattered about the ground on the street where I live. Written on all of them was the message… Lost: Staple Gun.”