Lorne Jackson
Bridge of sighs
THE gallimaufry of ghastly gales gallivanting round Scotland reminds David Waters from Blackwood of the auld wifey who visited her doctor with stomach pains.
After examining her the doc explained it was merely wind, so there was nothing to worry about.
“Just wind! Just wind!” expostulated the wifey. “D’ye no ken that it wis jist wind what blew doon the Tay Brig?”
New brooms
SPORTS fan John Mulholland enjoyed the Beijing Winter Olympics, learning about many events such as the skeleton, the luge and freestyle skiing.
However, he was flummoxed when his wife enquired when the ice bowling final would be on TV.
After a few minutes the penny dropped. She was asking about the curling.
Four-bob note
WE continue mulling over the ubiquity of the name Bob. In the mid-1950s, Brian Smith from Ayrshire moved to Glasgow where he attended Thorntree primary school.
In the class was Bobby Murdoch, Bobby Ferrie, Bobby Glasgow, and Bobby Scotland.
“We had great fun,” recalls Brian. “Just Bob, Bob, Bob (Bob)in’ along.”
French addressing
THE above story may be a tad misleading, for the vast majority of people in the world are not named Bob. To prove this point, Roddy Young tells us of a female student he knew named Gemma Pell who struggled to make introductions during a visit to France.
Feeling flat
“I USED to work for a recycling firm crushing old Irn-Bru cans,” says Gavin Murray. “It was soda pressing.”
Keaton eatin’
MOVIE star Michael Keaton has been enjoying some scoff in Glasgow Italian restaurant La Lanterna. Keaton, who played Batman in two flicks in the 1980s and 90s, is reprising the role in Batgirl, currently filming in Glasgow.
At least we now know where a certain superhero goes to eat his dinner, dinner, dinner, dinner… Batman!
(Oh, please yourselves.)
Message received?
READER Ian Noble from Carstairs Village gets in touch to say: “I’ve often wondered about St John’s letter to the Corinthians. I know it was a long time ago, but did they
ever reply?”
Celtic connection
“MY grandma is 80 per cent Irish,” says reader Ben Hulme. “People call her Iris.”
Spaghetti whoops
FINDING himself in the kitchen utensils aisle in Morrisons, reader Jack Davidson happened to mention to his adult son, standing next to him, that he wanted to find the bathroom accessories, as he was in need of a backscratcher to use in the shower.
A wee wummin sidled up to Jack and said: “You don’t need a backscratcher. They’re such fiddly things and they snap so easily.” She then pointed to one of the kitchen utensils for sale, a large fork-like object for draining spaghetti.
“Use one of those instead,” she said. “I do. And it’s marvellous.”
Our reader was left speechless as the lady walked away, before returning briefly to add: “Just remember, though. Don’t make spaghetti with it after doing your back.”
Goalposts moved
RESIGNED to his fate, reader Mark Patterson says: “Going to bed early, not leaving my house and not going to a party were all my childhood punishments. Now they’ve become my adult goals.”
Hanging around
PARENTS’ evenings are friendly occasions when mums and dads get the opportunity to give thanks to the fine educators who provide their children with such a wonderful start in life. Though that’s not always how it plays out.
Gwen Moore taught English in a rowdy Glasgow school in the 1990s. During one parents’ evening, an impressively bulky lady barged into the classroom and said: “I’ve just been tae see the maths teacher, and I telt him if he had any mair snash wi’ ma son I’d be hingin’ that maths teacher oot the windae by his fingernails.”
There followed a brief pause with Gwen wondering if her own fingernails would soon be gripping a classroom window frame.
Then the mother added: “But you’ve nothin’ tae worry aboot, Miss Moore. Ma wee Tommy telt me yer awfy nice.”
The relieved teacher, not quite knowing how to respond, said, simply: “Er … thanks?”
Haughty home
ON a bus into Glasgow, reader Laura Watts heard one young woman gossiping to a gal pal.
At one point the woman said: “Have you seen Donna recently? She’s gone all uppity after that move to the west end. Now she’s calling her flat an apartment. She’ll be replacing the doormat with a red carpet next.”
A fishy tale
FRUSTRATED reader Bill Thornton no longer frequents his local chippy as the proprietor only sells one sort of fish. “I’m sick of that plaice,” he says. Read Lorne Jackson’s Diary every day in The Herald