Egg-cellent gift

EASTER is almost upon us.

A time of gift-giving in our happy office, for the Diary editor, in all his beneficence, insists on handing each member of staff an egg.

Not a chocolate egg, unfortunately, for as the editor points out, those things are bad for your teeth.

(And bad for his wallet, he adds in a stage-whisper.)

Instead, we wait in line and a watery wodge of scrambled egg is slapped in our outstretched hands.

We’re then free to do what we like with our egg. Roll it down a hill. (For some reason it doesn’t move very fast, or get far.)

Eat it. (It has usually been loitering in the editor’s drawer since the previous Easter, which gives it a memorable tang and consistency.)

Most of us merely shudder, wipe it off on our jackets, then return to work.

The Diary also has an Easter gift for our readers.

Unfortunately we can’t provide you with twelve-month-old scrambled egg, for that would get stuck to the pages of your Herald.

Instead, we offer a selection of classic tales, and each one is as cracking as an egg shell…


Hairy situation

THE friend of a reader hankered after a tipple in a pub when he was underage.

Using his sister’s eye-liner, he filled out the immature moustache hair on his top lip.

Which made him look older.

Though after one pint he was left sporting a rather fetching Mexican-style droopy ‘tache…


Water cheek

AT the Corrie Golf Club tearoom on Arran a waitress told a reader that she was surprised when a customer arrived with her own food and merely asked for a cup of hot water for her tea bag.

Trying to think of a reason for such parsimony, our reader asked the waitress: “Was she coeliac?”

“No,” replied the waitress. “She came from Edinburgh.”


Teachable moment

A SCOTTISH comic performing in a Tenerife hotel was aware that youngsters were in the audience, despite it being a late show.

The first thing the funnyman said was: “Now children, if any of you inadvertently repeat any of my sweary, bad words in class, just tell the teacher it’s Spanish. A primary school teacher won’t know the difference.”


Dicey situation

A FRUSTRATED reader was waiting for the Ardrossan to Kilmarnock bus, which is meant to arrive every eight minutes.

After a quarter of an hour of foot-tapping, our chap expressed his dissatisfaction to a fellow would-be passenger.

The chap explained to him: “They’ve a new rule at the Ardrossan terminus. They roll a dice, and they need a six to start.”


You’ve been canned

“I WAS banned from the Secret Cooking Society,” confessed a reader. “I kept spilling the beans.”