Tree-mendous… or  not?

WE mentioned that Santa’s gargantuan girth is making it increasingly difficult for him to do his job.

The Diary’s crack Investigative Unit has even heard rumours that he’ll no longer struggle to stuff himself down chimneys this year, as it’s a claustrophobic ordeal for the old fellow, making him feel as though he’s a grizzled offcut of a Grand National winner, being piped into a French sausage.

Instead, he plans on taking a series of Zoom calls with children, where he’ll tell them: “Sorry, no prezzies this year, but - Ho, Ho, Ho! - it’s the thought that counts, right?”

Thankfully, some Christmas traditions persevere, such as plonking a fir tree in a corner of the living room, then covering it with more tinsel and tat than Elton John would sprinkle on himself in preparation for a world tour.

Reader Tricia Duncan made a special effort this year to ensure her tree is festooned in all the colours of the rainbow.

There’s also a splendid gold star sparkling on top, as glorious as Edmund Hillary bestride the peak of Everest.

Tricia proudly invited her boyfriend over to her flat, to gaze upon her work and provide the sumptuous praise she deserves.

That’s not how things played out.

Taking one look at the festive foliage, he muttered: “That’s not a Christmas tree. It’s a Christmas twee.”

 

Armless ambition

FRUSTRATED reader James Millar tells us: “I’d give my right arm to be ambidextrous.”

 

Toilet tinkling, continued

HAVING discovered that one of the Christmas presents available this year is a musical toilet mat, with working keyboard, we’re now wondering which tunes could be played on it.

Eddie MacKinnon in Alexandria suggests a famous song from the Disney cartoon Frozen, which includes the lyrics: “Let it go, let it go, can't hold it back any more…”

 

Pop confuses pop

A DIARY mention of a 1980s song reminds Beth Gordon of the time her dad walked in while she was watching Milli Vanilli perform on Top of the Pops.

“So,” he inquired, “which one’s Milli and which one’s Vanilli?”

 

Naked ambition

A STORY about Burton clothes emporium reminds Harry Shaw from Airdrie of his father, who wasn’t a fan of the materials used in the store, and so devised the slogan: “Let Burton clothe you. Sneeze and you’re naked.”

(Which the Diary believes could be a good or bad thing. Depending on what you look like naked.)

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Boozy badinage

“VODKA may not solve your problems,” concedes reader Ralph Herring, “but it’s worth a shot.”