Toy story

A DIARY tale about mistaken identity reminds John Mulholland of a Sunday many years ago when he and his two-year-old brother were taken by their mum to Mass. The priest walked from the altar to the pulpit and, as he climbed the pulpit’s spiral staircase, he disappeared from view for a split second, only to reappear as if by magic at the top, his arms outstretched in his brightly coloured vestments to announce the reading of the Gospel.

“Oh look, mummy,” shouted John’s brother excitedly, “it’s a Jack-in-the-box!”

Cutting comment

OUR readers continue to have hair-raising experiences at the hairdressers. Last week Linda Mumphry from Muirend was charged £165 for a basic snippety-snip. Linda knew prices had risen a tad due to lockdown, though this seemed a trifle excessive.

“I’m only joking!” chuckled the hairdresser, “but you were going to pay it, weren’t you?”

Our reader tells us: “I probably would have, too. Though only because I’m 76, and much too mature to be shoulder-charging past hairdressers and skedaddling out the premises with my purse firmly shut.”

Housing problem

ANOTHER tale of the language barrier between Alba and everyone else. David Donaldson was once vacationing in France. Discovering that a cute puppy was scampering around at a nearby farm, he decided to take his kids to see it.

Now, the word for puppy in French is chiot. But daffy David forgot that you don’t pronounce the final t.

As a result he received a most quizzical look from Mme Dumoulin of the farm when he politely enquired if he could see her chiotte. In other words, her outside toilet.

(Actually, the precise English translation of chiotte is slightly more - ahem - robust than outside toilet. Think of the word outhouse, then replace the word ‘out’ with something more visceral. Now you’re getting the picture...)

Choc chic

STROLLING to the shops with her six-year-old daughter, reader Paula Beasley said, “I could really go a chocolate eclair.”

“Who’s Clair?” asked the youngster. “And why’s she so chocolatey?”

Mind games

EDINBURGH comedian Martin Bearne emailed a poem to his therapist but she couldn’t open the file. “Not the first time we’ve had attachment issues,” sighs Martin.

Humble? Heck, no

ANOTHER flight of fancy from retired pilot Doug Maughan. “How do you know someone’s a pilot?” asks Doug. “Because it’s the first thing he says to you.”

Torch-urous tale

A SAD yet happy story from reader Ed Houston, who tells us: “I was delighted when someone stole my flashlight.”