Punchy Prezza

THE Diary was sad to hear of the death of Labour politician John Prescott, a fella from humble roots who thrived during an era when the Labour Party still had a passing acquaintance with the working classes.

These days, alas, Labour is about as working class as a PG Wodehouse novel or a game of charades played in an Edwardian drawing room.

Prescott was a scrapper, in both the metaphorical and literal sense, and was perhaps most famous for getting involved in a cerebral dispute with a voter.

Cerebral, that is, because Prezza gave the bloke a hefty biff on the brainbox. 

The bloke biffed back, showing that Britain, in those halcyon days, truly was a democratic and egalitarian nation.  

Prescott will be missed, for he was a connection to the good old days, as are these classic Diary tales from our archives…

 

Kitchen confidential

GLASGOW’S West End is a foreign country: they do things differently there.

We recall when a worker arrived at a houseproud West-Ender’s home to repair a window just after she had washed the kitchen floor.

“Hang on a minute,” she said, “while I put some newspapers down.”

“It’s all right dear,” he told her. “I’m house-trained.”

 

Cruel to coos

MORE from the West End.

A portrait photographer had a large model cow that she used to pose children upon.

She decided to take it outside for a spring-clean, and was seen by a workman opposite enthusiastically thrashing the dust out of it with a carpet-beater.

“Haw, missus,” he cried, “it’s no the coo’s fault it’s got foot-and-mouth disease.”

 

Games people play

A BEARSDEN couple were playing I-Spy with their five-year-old daughter when she announced: “Something beginning with W.”

They tried "wall", "window", and so on until they were stumped.

So their daughter gave them a clue: “It’s something that all daddies have.”

As the girl’s dad told us: “Great minds think alike, and my wife and I looked aghast at each other as we dreaded what kind of vocabulary Hilary was acquiring in her first year at school.”

A double sigh of relief was expressed when Hilary explained that the answer was, of course “Wallet”.

 

Taking the biscuit

A READER once told us about a discussion she had with a relative.

“My uncle is always complaining about the price of everything,” she said.

Apparently the uncle said: "£4.50 for a cup of tea. £5 for three custard creams. It's outrageous!"

So our reader said to him: "Well, it was your decision to visit me..."

 

Rough deal

A READER was enjoying a tipple in his local hostelry when a chap tried to sell him a rare, antique map of the Sahara desert for the bargain price of twenty pounds.

“The next morning, when I sobered up,” said our reader, “I realised it was a sheet of sandpaper.”