Fit for purpose?

THE Olympics are almost upon us, and the good news is there will be no Scottish squad of athletes to stink up the joint.

The bad news is there will be a British squad of athletes, and they have the exact same aptitude for entering a joint and providing it with a pungent aroma.

Because the 2024 Olympics is in Paris, there will be certain changes to the usual sporting events.  

The relay race, for instance, will be run using a baguette instead of a baton.

And instead of throwing a hammer, athletes will chuck a Roquefort cheese. (Hopefully they will be able to chuck it a long, long way. Cos those things are almost as pungent as a British athlete.)

The Diary was eager to provide a few buff men and women to participate in the British team, and to that effect our reporters have been practising the beanbag race, as well as having highly competitive games of Tig in the office car park.

Boy, were we impressive! Yet no summons arrived to pack our bags and make our way to Paris.

We’re not overly disappointed, for we still get to work on the Herald Diary, providing entertaining stories for our grateful readers, such as the following classic yarns from the archives…

Facing the music

PARENTS can be cruel.

We were told of a father returning home after a hard day’s work and being less than sympathetic when his young son commenced his violin practice, while the family dog started howling along with it.

“For goodness’ sake,” snapped the father, “can you not play something the dog doesn’t know?”

Wit’s the drama?

WHEN crime series Taggart was still being produced, the film crew found themselves on the mean streets of Glasgow. At one city-centre location a wee wumman shyly approached one of the film folk, who was loitering with his walkie-talkie.

“Whit is it ye’re daein’, son?” she naturally enquired.

“We’re filming an episode of Taggart,” he politely explained.

“Oh, aye. Taggart, eh?” she replied. “Is it a repeat?”

Triumphantly taciturn

A PROUD reader once told us: “For the third year in a row, my co-workers voted me ‘the most secretive bloke in the office’. I can't tell you how much the award means to me.”

Magic moments

OVERHEARD on the Helensburgh to Glasgow train.

A woman was complaining loudly and grumpily to a female pal about her marriage.

Trying to be supportive, the chum said: “Yes, I suppose the magic just isn’t there after a while.”

The dispirited first lady snapped back: “Oh, there’s still some magic. Every Saturday night he disappears.”

Water disappointment

A TALE of entrepreneurship gone awry.

“I used to run a very successful jet-washing company,” a reader once told us. “Unfortunately I had to eventually give it up. I just couldn’t take the pressure.”