Scraper paper, continued

THE masochistic Diary is recalling the dreaded IZAL loo roll, which was so scritchy-scratchy that it made sandpaper seem as smooth as an angel’s cheek in comparison. Though some people preferred it to the new-fangled Andrex that later became available.

Donald Cameron from Fort William recalls a conversation in his neck of the woods back in 1950.

Living there at the time was the wife of a retired army officer who suffered from a superiority complex and was known to jump the queue ahead of lesser mortals of the town.

On one occasion she barked out her order: “A pan loaf and two toilet rolls.”

The assistant lowered her voice and asked: “Is it the new soft tissue you would like?”

The Very Important Lady, in a voice that could have been heard on top of Ben Nevis, replied: “No, no. It’s no good. We tried it last week and the Colonel’s fingers went straight through it.”

Dark days ahead

THE nation’s dire economic situation, as explained by reader Debbie Travers: “When I was young I was scared of the dark. Now, when I see my electricity bill, I’m scared of the lights.”

Balls up

WE mentioned Edinburgh’s Pleasance Theatre cancelling a performance by outrageous comedian Jerry Sadowitz after management became outraged by his outrageousness.

The Pleasance crew were clearly naïve in their expectations, and the Diary has been devising similes to describe the venue’s behaviour.

Reader Nathan Ogilvy says: “Booking Jerry Sadowitz then complaining that he’s offensive is like employing Danny DeVito to play basketball for the LA Lakers, then complaining that he doesn’t score much.”

Numerical nonentity

SYMPATHETIC reader Iain Woodham says: “It has to feel at least a little disappointing to be Number 11 on the FBI'S most wanted list.”

Price pummelled

“IT was recently the 59th anniversary of the Great Train Robbery,” points out reader Marvin Stone. “To celebrate I went into Glasgow’s Central Station and bought a coffee for £4.99.”

Rip-roaring rant

THE teenage son of reader Emma Pinch joined the local gym. After visiting once, he returned home and declared: “Well, that’s me ripped.”

Emma patiently explained that it would take months of gruelling training before his muscles became toned.

“You don’t get it,” replied the irritated lad, pulling a T-shirt from his gym bag.

“Look,” he grunted. “My favourite top. And I ripped it on one of those &%!$$*! exercise machines.”

Filthy rich

EXASPERATED reader George Leslie points out: “Glasgow pigeons must be wealthy. They don’t have a problem putting deposits on expensive cars.”

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