Hard luck
We’re discussing the thrilling adventures to be enjoyed on a visit to Edinburgh’s Waverley Station.
When Ian Barnett was last in that remarkable building he found himself chatting to the chap running a food stall.
“I asked for a sandwich with stale, hard bread and some cheese past its sell-by date,” said Ian.
“Don’t be silly,” replied the serving chap, “we don’t purvey anything like that.”
“Well,” said Ian, “you sold me one like that yesterday.”
Picture this
History buff Martin Forsyth told a mate in the pub that the Bayeux Tapestry, depicting the Battle of Hastings, is arriving in Blighty.
“So we’re shipping an overlong comic strip to the UK,” shrugged the mate. “Big deal.”
Driven to distraction
A chum of Malcolm Boyd from Milngavie owns a classic car of which he’s exceedingly proud.
Malcolm inquired if it was expensive to maintain.
“Not in the way you’d think,” replied the chum.
He explained that car servicing was no more than average, but it was the unexpected extras that cost more.
For example, he continued, his wife would say she needed a new handbag or coat.
“Your wardrobe’s full of handbags and coats,” he’d reply, leading his wife to triumphantly retort: "Well, if you can drive a Bentley…"
New balls, please
We continue listing the clunky clichés that make Wimbledon tennis so predictable.
Eddy Cavin explains that the following will happen, at least once…
The Duke of Kent will present trophies as usual, though the papers will hope the fragrant Kate will be there instead.
During a lull in play TV cameras scan the crowd for celebs / someone in a novelty hat / someone sleeping… or, if all else fails, an attractive female.
More cutting comments
A Diary yarn about haircuts reminds Robert Richardson of a caravan holiday in Arbroath.
This being Arbroath, it never stopped raining, and one day Robert’s wife growled at hubby: “You need a haircut.”
So off he scurried to the nearest snipetty-snip merchant, but, alas, it was busy.
Sadly lacking a focused goal, he sauntered to the harbour, studied the fishing boats, combed his hair, then returned to the caravan.
Robert’s wife scrutinised the top of hubby’s head then uttered the immortal words: “That’s much better.”
“She’s still reminded of this comment to this day,” chuckles Robert.
Seeing red
“I was going to donate blood, says kindly reader Jamie Hooper, “but they ask way too many personal questions, including ‘Whose blood is this?’ and ‘Why’s it in a bucket?’”
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