Masterful M
The Wimbledon winners nab their silverware this weekend, though the Diary has unfortunately struggled to get excited about this particular sporting extravaganza, ever since Sir Andy Murray declared “Enough of this racket,” and hung up his racquet.
We’re also rather miffed that the name of the sport hasn’t been changed from tennis to Murrayball.
After all, if a net-nudging loser like Tough-Luck Timmy Henman can be awarded his very own hill, then a three times grand-slam champ like the magnificent Sir A should have the entire game named after him.
And while we’re at it, let’s stop calling the home of British tennis the All England Club.
Even though Centre Court and all the little baby courts are nestled in the heart of London’s suburbs, a more inspiring moniker for the location would be the All Scotland Club.
Thankfully today’s Diary is a Timmy-free zone, with oodles of triumphant Scottish content.
That’s because the following classic tales from our archives aren’t second or third best.
They’re winners, every single one of ‘em.
(Don’t) fancy a nibble
A Milngavie reader once booked a mobile pet-groomer to give her dog a clipping for the summer.
Her husband walked in and declared: “Twenty-five quid? I get my hair cut for less than half that.”
The pet-groomer archly replied: “Yes, but I’m assuming you don’t bite.”
Magical response
Street theatre can be a dangerous activity, especially if you happen to be a gang of lippy youths.
One of our readers was watching an outdoor magician in Glasgow’s Buchanan Street who was being heckled by some cheeky young wags.
Eventually the magician asked: “Where are you boys from?”
“Alloa,” said one.
“Great place to come from,” said the magician, before adding: “Awful place to have to go back to, right enough.”
Double trouble
Sassy street performers, continued.
A Lenzie reader watched another act strutting his stuff in Buchanan Street.
At one point this chap said to a volunteer, “Is this your girlfriend?” while looking at the young woman with him.
When the proud volunteer replied, “Yes,” the performer said: “Fantastic! So much prettier than the one you were with yesterday.”
Bowing out
The Edinburgh Fringe fast approaches, with its thousands of eager wannabes.
We recall visiting the razzle-dazzle jamboree on one occasion, when a comical Glaswegian said to the Diary: “How do you get an actor away from your door?”
He then added, perhaps a tad unfairly: “Pay him for the pizza.”
Facing the music
Good news for folk who like growly guitars and grumpy middle-aged geezers… Oasis are gigging again.
We recall when they first split, and a chap said to his pal in a Glasgow boozer: “Did you hear that Noel Gallagher said he quit Oasis as he couldn’t work with his brother?”
“Well,” replied his mate, “we knew that three albums ago.”
Share