Lorne Jackson
A fishy tale
LEITH is one of Edinburgh’s swankier postcodes, as many of our readers will know.
Writer Deedee Cuddihy discovered this for herself on a recent visit to friends in the district’s Constitution Street, where a bottle of bubbly was opened, immediately followed by the appearance of Mitzi, the normally shy resident cat, who had been hiding in the kitchen.
Her owners casually explained: “The sound of a cork popping always brings her running because the champers is usually accompanied by her favourite smoked salmon.”
Posh bird?
OVER the last few weeks, reader David Donaldson has noticed an unusual sound in Glasgow’s Hyndland – the hooting of an owl. “You can tell it’s not a native of the west end,” he says, “because it goes ‘To-who’ instead of ‘To-whom’.”
Lie detector
THE Diary continues to study the exotic terminology used by golfers. Several readers, including Sid Leslie and Tom Mitchell, get in touch to suggest that a poor lie should now be called a Boris.
And there’s more: Bill Rutherford from Galashiels tells us that an unfortunate lie of the ball is sometimes called a Piers Morgan.
This is when you really want to give it a good smack, but, alas, can’t.
Footloose
HEALTH-CONSCIOUS reader Glenda Martin tells us: “The first few weeks going to Weight Watchers is just about finding your feet …”
Vulgar tongue
WITH Burns Night appproaching, many of our readers will no doubt be marvelling over the innate lyricism of the Scottish people.
Gordon McRae agrees that we Scots have great linguistic prowess, though he is more intrigued by the profane than the poetical, and has been musing over all the wonderful ways we have devised to denigrate and dismiss our friends and neighbours.
His particular favourites include: “You’ve a heid fu’ o’ broken biscuits” and the triumphantly tart “If you had another brain it would be lonely”.
Haggis hell
STILL on the Burns Night theme: businessman Jack Davidson from Newton Mearns recalls spending a previous such occasion in a hotel where he was hosting a trade delegation from Romania.
The Eastern Europeans had been promised a feast to celebrate the birthday of Scotland’s most famous poet.
They were told that they would savour exotic treats such as they had never indulged in before, including haggis and After Eight mints. As the festivities commenced, Jack glanced at one of the Romanians and witnessed a sight that chilled him to the very marrow. The delegate was smearing a lump of haggis on an After Eight, which he was using like a cracker. His fellow Romanians nodded in approval and did likewise.
The meal was not a roaring success.
Acting up
IN a recent tale about the performing fraternity, the Diary discussed the activities of a certain female thespian. Intrigued reader Joe Knox gets in touch to say: “I would love to ask her how things are doing in Thespia.”
Chat line
A DIARY yarn about an exuberant youth reminds reader Margaret Thomson of the occasion when she took her grandson, aged three, to the garden centre for lunch.
He was a real chatterbox, and two ladies at an adjoining table were clearly earwigging.
When Margaret got up to leave, one of the ladies said: “What a delightful wee boy. I could take him home.”
When this was reported to the little chap’s mum, she enthusiastically exclaimed: “Did you get her telephone number?”
Collective wisdom
SCHOLARLY reader Larry Cheyne is on a mission to discover little known collective nouns. One he recently came across is: “A cameraderie of photographers.”
Questionable question
WISE reader of the Diary, Carol Hibbert, gets in touch to say: “Where would we be without rhetorical questions?”
Handy notification
A RECENT Diary yarn about the trials and travails of motherhood reminds Grant MacKenzie from Bearsden of his wife’s valiant attempt to toilet train one of the children.
Grant recalls returning home from work to be greeted in the hall by this nappyless youth, proudly announcing that he had “Dun a poo!”
Not wishing to dampen his enthusiasm (or correct his grammar) our reader heartily congratulated him and enquired where he’d actually done the deed.
“In my hand!” reported the boy gleefully, proffering his unclenched fist.
Lengthy diatribe
IRRITATED reader Mandy O’Dell says:
“I feel like superfluous has too many letters.” Lorne Jackson’s Diary appears in The Herald Monday to Saturday