What a crock

THE mean-spirited Diary recently suggested that it’s unlikely that Rishi Sunak will bag a General Election victory.

But it’s not all bad news for the Prime Minister.

We also pointed out that if Sunak secretly accepts he won’t be in Number 10 much longer, he can make all manner of fanciful election pledges which he won’t have to deliver.

Reader Alan Williamson claims Rishi’s next promise will be to provide every British subject with a sat nav location for all the crocks of gold buried by those sneaky leprechauns.

“Of course,” adds Alan, “the local leprechaun community won’t be delighted with the PM for divulging their jealously-guarded secrets.

“But that won’t concern Rishi. Leprechauns are far too blitzed on Guinness to read about his pledges in the Herald Diary.”


Kiddy confusion

MORE profound political ponderings.

The 10-year-old son of Jessica Russell asked: “Why do only soldiers get to vote?”

Jessica inquired why he assumed this to be the case.

Replied the little fellow: “It’s a ‘general’ election, isn’t it?”


Talking balls (again)

AS our loyal readers are aware, the Diary is a leading expert in the popular sport of kickyball.

For example, we know that it involves kicking.

And a ball.

(That’s the sort of detailed knowledge we bring to all our sports coverage.)

What is less well known is that kickyball isn’t just played in Scotland. A lesser league operates south of the Border.

For some reason, known only to himself, reader Bob Jamieson follows this league, and he gets in touch to tell us: “Just bought a new TV from Currys to watch the English Premier next season. But it's come with no Leeds…”


The munchies

BON VIVEUR John Hansen was enjoying a yummy buffet feast in a Chinese restaurant, along with his wife.

“That's the third time you've gone back for fried rice,” scolded his wife. “Aren’t you embarrassed?”

"Nope,” shrugged John. “I keep telling the guy serving that it’s for you.”

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Past perfect

THE sweet siren song of yesteryear is softly cooing in the ear of Ian Noble from Carstairs Village.

“I remember,” he sighs dolefully, “when shirts had tails, and were always tucked into your trousers. When you helped your granny doing the washing by ‘cawing the wringer’.  And Arthur Montford’s sports jacket caused picture break-up…”



A TALE of writing and fighting.

“The pen is mightier than the sword,” claims reader Scott Hume, who adds, “If anyone disagrees, I’ll come down on them like a ton of Bics.”