BOOKER Prize-winning Glasgow author Douglas Stuart complained to a Norwegian friend about how something trivial had hurt him. Being an empathetic soul, the pal turned to Douglas and said, “That makes sense. You’re just hummus.
AGAIN social media gets to the crux of the matter, with a student from Edinburgh Napier University explaining on Twitter: ‘I don’t support the monarchy at all, but today I saw someone ‘one call the platinum jubilee the ‘platty joobs’, and I think it has to be the best thing to come out of it.
*THIS is quickly becoming a trend in these countries, although not everyone is thrilled with this unexpected development of the Scots language.
Inverness-based playwright Jack MacGregor grumbles: “Platty jubes sounds like a 19th-century euphemism for dysentery.
CONGRATULATIONS to crime scribe Ian Rankin, who has been knighted in Queen’s Birthday Honours. There is a proud tradition of Scottish writers of detective fiction bagging the Big K, with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle being a notable example.
But surely Ian is the first to boast that the award means his title now matches his initials.
Because being Sir Ian Rankin makes him both Sir and SIR.
(Ian’s middle initial is J for James, but it’s probably best to keep quiet about that, as it ruins the purpose of this story.)
MORE blue blood banter. Although on this occasion the person with the unusually stained hemoglobin is not our own queen. (Gor bless you, ma’am.) He’s a guy from Scandinavia…
“When I was in primary school,” Glasgow actress Janette Foggo recalled, “King Olav of Norway came to visit Weir’s works around the corner and we were thrown onto the sidewalk to greet us as we passed. I laughed because my mother’s name was Olive and I thought the King of Norway had a girl’s name.
food for thought
OUR readers are discerning foodies who appreciate exotic cuisine, which is why many of them will be jealous of Welsh primary school pupils who have to be fed insects such as crickets, grasshoppers, silkworms and locusts as part of a project to assess the appetite for “alternative proteins”.
The newspaper’s correspondent, Ralph Walton, showed more concern than jealousy when he said: “If this kind of experiment is ever tried in Scotland, I hope they will have the decency to fry the insects.
* NEWS that Glasgow’s Little Curry House is serving Mars Bar pakora, a new take on the fried Mars Bar genre, impresses reader Bruce Reeves.
“Is there anything our nation won’t fry?” he marvels. “I am now looking forward to the fried soup.”
OUR correspondents continue to cut the letters out of movie titles, suggesting better movies that could be made instead.
Gordon Casely wants to see a blockbuster about the romantic inclinations of a certain resident of Number 10, known for his wandering eye.
The film would be called… Love Tory.
BORIS also likes to make love to the past, as he now promises a return to pounds and ounces. Hearing this, Journal correspondent David Donaldson realized that some precious materials continued to be weighed in ounces, even in the metric era.
He explains, “You never hear anyone say, ‘He doesn’t have an ounce of common sense,’ do you?”
And all that
ADVENTUROUS reader David Donaldson was enjoying a cruise from the Canary Islands and chatted with a Swiss jazz guitarist who told him, “What do you call a jazz musician who’s not married?”
The answer, it seems, is “homeless”.
road to nowhere
Frustrated reader Mary Green grumbles: “I was stuck in traffic for so long the other day, even my GPS said, ‘Are we there yet?
AMBITIOUS reader Scott Hall went for a job interview at IKEA. The director said, “Come in, sit down.”
Qatar too far
IT turns out that our nation’s moral stance stands above all others, as Scottish travel writer Stuart Kenny blusteringly declares: “A bold and admirable decision by Scotland to boycott the Qatar World Cup.
Come get me
WE hear of a Scottish soccer fan who ended up visiting Scottsdale, Arizona. Asking for liquid refreshment, he was quickly handed an amber beer called Kilt Lifter.
“I had to know I was coming,” he concluded.
WE mentioned that King Olav of Norway visited Glasgow in the 1960s. Kenny Maclean from Giffnock was attending Shawlands Primary School at the time and remembers several classes walking up Auldhouse Road to stroll for ages to encourage Her Majesty as he walked past.
“What an anti-climax,” sighs Kenny. “It passed so quickly that we didn’t see it…and we had to buy our cigarettes.”
Spread of pain
A TRAGIC story. Reader Margaret Connolly dropped a tub of margarine on her foot six months ago and is still limping.
“I can’t believe it’s not better,” she says.
“MY friend has a weird fear of spiders in raincoats,” says reader Lynn Spence. “Anorakaphobia.
* Read Lorne Jackson’s diary in The Herald daily