Bird-brained romance

A love story.

Reader Steve Maxwell was at Mount Florida train station when he came across a scene of blossoming infatuation.

A robin redbreast was on the platform close to a young woman waiting for a train. (The woman was waiting for the train, that is. Not the robin redbreast, which hadn’t purchased a ticket.)

The robin kept hop-hopping closer to the woman, until it was standing right in front of her.

This delighted the woman, who beamed beatifically at the bird. The bird, in its turn, had a look of adoration in its button-black eyes.

A bond was clearly forming. A lifelong friendship, perhaps.

Or so it seemed.

Then the bird nabbed a crumb of bread that happened to be lying near the woman’s feet, and flew off, without a parting glance at the bereft woman.

A flat-capped auld fella, also waiting for a train, chuckled dryly, then muttered to the woman: “An’ here’s you thinkin’ that wee burd liked you, ’n aw.”

Bearing up as best she could, the lady replied: “I did. I really did.”

 

Lactose intolerant

IN a bar in Glasgow’s Merchant City reader Donna Booth overheard two gal pals yacking.

One revealed that she recently split up with a bloke after only a few dates with him.

“Wit wiz the problem?” enquired her friend.

“Milky feet,” explained the dumping dame.

“Milky feet?” said her friend. “Witzat?”

“You’ll know it when you see it,” warned the first girl.

“Ugh!” shuddered her pal. “Say no more.”

 

Talking balls

CURIOUS reader Jack Martin asks: “Do workers at the factory where they make stress-balls ever get sick notes for anxiety?”

 

Bricking it

EARLIER this week reader Wendy Campbell was driving her 11-year old-daughter to school when a song by 1980s band Starship started playing on the radio, which included the memorable lyrics: “We built this city on rock and roll.”

Mulling this over for a contemplative few seconds, Wendy’s daughter eventually said: “So why didn’t they use bricks to build the city, like most people do?”

 

Pages take ages

WE mentioned that reading classic Russian fiction can be a drudge and a trudge through sludge.

But it transpires that the problem doesn’t end with Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy.

“For Christmas I was given a book about time management,” says reader Don Osborne. “Unfortunately I’ve not got round to reading it yet.”

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Highs and lows

“I quit my job at the helium factory,” harrumphs reader Lisa Anderson. “I won't be spoken to in that tone.”