What a card

POLITICIANS tend to get exceedingly grumpy because of the tedious amounts of paperwork that gets dumped in their in-trays by sadistic civil servants.

Though there is one type of stationary that politicos actually enjoy dealing with: choosing the Christmas card that they send to their cronies every year.

“I assume,” says reader Stevie Campbell, “that Scotland’s First Minister will have a picture of Ebenezer Scrooge on the front of his card, along with the festive greeting: ‘Bah, Humzabug’.”

Times not a-changin’

NOT everyone adores this time of year, it must be admitted.

Santa certainly can’t stand it, for the poor chap has to join Weight Watchers for the whole of November and December, just so he can squeeze down all those pesky chimneys.

Hugh Steele in Cumbernauld informs us that he’s certainly no fan of the festivities.

Adds Hugh: “I have a copy of the 1982 Radio Times, if anybody wants to know what’s on the BBC this Christmas.”

Tinkling tunes, continued

WE recently discovered that one of the Christmas presents available this year is a musical toilet mat, with a working keyboard.

Now we’re wondering which tunes should be played on it.

Ross Ballantyne from Bearsden suggests that classic Engelbert Humperdinck ditty… Please Release Me.

For F’s sake

YET again the campaigning Diary bravely tackles a contentious issue that no other news outlet would dare even mention.

Ian Noble from Carstairs Village says: “Does anyone else think that ‘Twelfth’ is a really daft word? Where does the ‘F’ come from?”

Muddled moniker

WE noted that the name of the Manchester City manager has caused a certain amount of confusion.

Says Janice Taylor from Carluke: “When I first heard his name, and for a good while after, I thought he was called Pet Gladiola. My husband eventually put me right.”

Half-baked notion

“IN a more honest world,” says reader David Donaldson, “Greggs vegan sausage rolls would be sold in a bag bearing the warning: ‘Does not imply the ability to roll. Does not contain vegans’.”

Life’s a carousel

LIKE William Shakespeare (The Diary’s only true rival in matters of storytelling) we often end proceedings with a tragical event.

Brace yourself, faithful reader, and have a copious supply of hankies by your elbow, for that’s exactly what we’re doing this very moment…

Peter Wright from West Kilbride says: “At Glasgow Airport arrivals hall, an elderly lady fainted and fell onto the baggage carousel.”

Adds a slightly more optimistic Peter: “She came around again, five minutes later.”