Indian takeaway

THE Diary is recalling with sentimental affection the mighty public transport workers who once ruled Scotland. Sometimes with beneficence. Sometimes with bite.

Gordon Casely tells us of a chap who foolishly inquired if the bus he had just hopped on was going to Rouken Glen.

“No,” said the conductress. “Carnwadric.”

The poor fellow was confused. “But it says Rouken Glen on the front,” he sputtered.

“Son,” said the conductress, with steely composure. “It says India oan the tyres. But we’re no gaun tae Bombay.”

Clock watching

OBSERVANT Gordon McRae spotted an advert recently which boasted "10-minute menu ideas you can make in a few minutes".

“That will be 10 minutes, presumably,” concludes our wily correspondent, who rarely misses a trick.

Hot metal

HAVING discovered that robots with Glasgow accents have been built for use in the boudoir, we’re now figuring out what these amorous automatons should be programmed to say.

Jenny Oliver from East Kilbride suggests: “It’s been a while, da’ling. I hope you don’t mind if I’m a little rusty.”

The name game

THE Diary has once again been discussing nominative determinism, those quirky occasions when a person’s name helps to seal their fate.

Bill Brown from Dumfries says the best moniker he ever came across belonged to a 1980s Russian 400 metres hurdler, whose name was Marina Stepanova.

This delighted Bill. Though years later our correspondent’s delight turned to disappointment when he discovered that English footballer, Danny Welbeck, doesn’t have a father who works in bomb disposal called Stan…

• LEGENDARY entertainer Andy Cameron tells us of the lady golfer at the prestigious Glasgow Golf Club in Killermont, Bearsden, who was disappointed to learn that Chip Beck was a well known American golfer, and not what the ladies of Killie did when their ball was hit through the green…

Relatively speaking

KATE Bush returned to the top of the music charts recently, decades after she had her first number one with Wuthering Heights.

She’s released many memorable songs in the interim, including Babooshka in 1980, which used to confuse reader Debbie Moore’s boyfriend of the time, whose ancestors hailed from Eastern Europe.

When ever the ditty was played on TV or radio, he’d say: “Why does that screechy-voiced lady keep singing about my grandma?”

Toytown tiff

THE resurgent argy-bargy over Scottish independence is another hangover from the 70s. The eight-year-old daughter of reader Jennifer Brindley is experiencing this drama for the first time, and is properly enthused by the heady prospect of people screeching from every street corner: “It’s Scottish oil!” or “Dinnae forget the Barnett formula!”

Our reader’s daughter has even set up a mock referendum in her bedroom, with her dolls taking opposing sides in the debate.

Says Jennifer: “She’s calling it the Sindy Ref.”

Raw food diet

ENJOYING an early morning paddle, Barrie Crawford was informed by a lady who also uses the local swimming pool that her nieces had invited her to a Diana Ross show in Glasgow.

“And,” she added, “they’re taking me to a strip joint before the concert.”

Our reader was intrigued, with the lady admitting she had been surprised, too.

Alas, there had been a mix-up. It transpired that she was merely being taken to a steak restaurant before the gig.

Family matters

“I’VE been thinking about adoption for quite a while,” says reader Len Jones. “Unfortunately I'm 63. And who wants to adopt a 63-year-old?”

Queue quipster

WITH public transport severely curtailed, the Diary is enjoying dreamy recollections of those faraway days when not only could you hop on a train with little hindrance, you could also overhear some cheeky chit-chat.

Russell Smith from Largs recalls this delightful exchange, which took place in the Glasgow subway ticket queue…

“Maryhill, single.”

Next in line: “Pat Murphy, married.”

Mind your language

CONVIVIAL Diary correspondent David Donaldson recently got chatting to a retired civil engineer who had spent years with his family in the Libyan city of Benghazi. One of his sons attended the local American school where he had to read a chapter from an American novel for homework.

The lad soon stumbled upon unfamiliar words, and had to ask his dad what "sidewalk" and "garbage" meant.

These were easily explained. Then came the question: "Dad, what's a f***it?"

Dad floundered for an answer, so asked to see the sentence.

It read: "She walked into the kitchen and turned on the faucet."

Road to success

ENTREPRENEURIAL reader Nathan Weller says: “I’m going to build a website where you can report poorly-maintained footpaths. It’ll be called Trip Advisor.”

Winning ways

FIERCELY-COMPETITIVE Diary correspondent Rhona Parker says: “My husband and I made a bet to see who can buy the most stuff from our local pet shop.”

With a great deal of pride, Rhona adds: “I’ve just taken the lead.”

• Read Lorne Jackson's Diary in The Herald every day