Bottoming out

AS exam time approaches we’re celebrating those wise scholars who make high school such a lively cauldron of intellectual endeavour.

History teacher Rhona McCrystal once decided to be charitable and ask one of her more ponderous pupils to supply her with an answer to an obvious question.

“Where was the Declaration of Arbroath signed?” enquired Rhona.

The pupil replied: “At the bottom, miss?”

Handy excuse

THE husband of Scottish golf presenter and podcaster, Diane Knox Balas, is equally enamoured of the eighteen hole game as his wife.

His obsession is so great, in fact, that Diane has now vowed to publish a book of phrases that hubby comes out with when talking about his struggle to improve his skills on the course.

Her favourite was the occasion she caught him talking to the dog.

“Bowser,” hubby said in a confidential manner, “be thankful you don’t have hands so you can’t play golf.”

Food for thought

JANICE, the wife of reader Brian Sanderson, is a proud vegetarian. The couple were recently having lunch with Janice’s mum and dad.

Janice’s dad, who isn’t exactly delighted about his daughter’s culinary decisions in life, said at one point: “I should have known our Janice would end up one of those vegetarians.”

“Is that because she loves animals?” asked Brian.

“Nah,” snorted Janice’s dad. “Because she hated carrots as a wee girl. Now she’s trying to get revenge on them by eating so many they’ll become extinct.”

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Dumping on deceased

THERE is no escape from public humiliation, it seems, even after a person has shuffled off this mortal coil. Gordon Fisher from Stewarton was at a funeral the other day. The celebrant was speaking about how the deceased was a modest man.

Unfortunately, when he said the chap was "self-deprecating" it came out as "self-defecating."

Not the kindest send off there has ever been…

Footering about

PHILOSOPHICAL thought for the day from reader Finlay Macdonald , who points out: “Socks are portable carpets.”

Brought to book

FOR reasons now lost to the chronicles of history, the Diary has taken it upon itself to vastly improve famous movies by plonking the word ‘library’ in the titles.

David Donaldson suggests a ripping yarn about a derring-do hero, travelling round the globe as he seeks to unearth overdue books.

This cinematic spectacular would be called… Raiders of the Lost Library.

A moveable feast

GRUESOME gag time. “What do you call the pink, fleshy bits between a shark’s teeth?” asks reader Paul Butterworth. “Slow swimmers.”