NEVER let it be said the Diary is merely a conduit for the conveyance of frivolous humour, for our primary role is to provide sound advice to readers. In this respect we are much like the government’s Sage committee, only with slightly less Chris, and a lot more Whitty.

With this in mind we forward a warning from a correspondent, who perhaps understandably prefers to remain anonymous.

“Don't let your wife buy your underpants,” says this chap, who adds, “the ones my wife bought me are really comfortable, but when I pulled them up they reached my nipples.”

For the sake of journalistic balance we feel duty bound to point out such a situation isn’t entirely without reward. For if the pants in question can be stretched further, and reach the chap’s chin, he can then forgo the inconvenience of wearing a shirt and necktie.

Jilted joke

WE mentioned a weathercaster with the apt name Sara Blizzard. This reminds Bob Ross, from Houston, Renfrewshire, of the time he officially thanked STV weather forecaster Gail McGrane for her presenting duties at a charity event.

In an impish mood, Bob said that Gail, “went down a storm.”

Alas, our reader’s witticism did not go down a storm with his stony-faced audience.

Bowling bamboozlement

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.

Phoney phone

“IF you want to be really scary this Hallowe'en,” suggests reader Linda Gregory, “dress up as a phone with one per cent charge.”

Bagging a partner

PLANETARY concerns. Brian Murphy, from Anniesland, Glasgow, is a Gaia sort of guy, and he’s been mulling over the looming ecological disaster facing the ball of dirt we all live on. Thankfully, Brian has an idea how to react to the situation.

For starters, he says we should adapt the maxim used to console a jilted lover: “Don’t worry, there’s plenty more plastic bags in the sea.”

Mucky moniker

OUR discussion about the name Bob reminds Bryce Drummond, from Kilmarnock, of the number of Dods or Doddies he’s met.

“Then there’s the slightly unusual one of Dodsof,” he adds. “Preceding the surname Peat.”

A fishy tale

FRUSTRATED reader Bill Thornton no longer frequents his local chippy as the proprietor sells only one sort of fish. “I’m sick of that plaice,” he says.