Forever young

ROD Stewart has announced that, at the age of 80, he will be performing at Glastonbury next year.

On the evening of the concert the only thing older than Rod in a twenty mile radius of the stage will be Glastonbury Tor. 

The Diary salutes this warrior warbler’s heroic refusal to swap rock-n-roll for rocking chairs.

He is the very embodiment of eternal youth.

Not only is Rod still a natural blond, his hair also somehow manages to defy the pull of gravity while forming itself into exotically shaped stalagmites.

(Some cynics may claim that hair dye and pots of gel are involved in Rod’s beauty regime, but we refuse to believe such malicious gossip.)

Much like the majestic Mr Stewart, the Diary is forever young. Our tales are always fresh, fab and frisky, as you will discover while perusing the following classic yarns from our archives…

 

The big chill

A COUPLE were marching home in silence after being invited to the new neighbours’ for dinner.

Unfortunately hubby had overdone the hospitality and made a bit of a spectacle of himself.

Trying to alleviate the frostiness, he turned to his silent wife and said optimistically: “I think they’re inviting us back at Christmas.”

Turning sharply on her heel, she spat back: “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Well,” he muttered, “I heard them saying it will be a cauld day before we’re invited back.”

 

Phoney phoning

A PREVIOUS government’s campaign against truancy prompted a reader to tell us about his brother-in-law working at a school where the phone rang and a suspiciously young voice said that a certain pupil would not be at school that day as he was sick.

The secretary thanked the caller and asked who was phoning.

The caller replied: “My dad.”

 

Prime puppy praising

LINGUISTIC misunderstanding occurs when you use phrases common in Scotland but not popular elsewhere.

A Glaswegian couple who moved to Liverpool had a puppy who seemed a bit nervous when the new neighbours were invited in.

So the lady of the house tried to put people at their ease by saying: “It’ll be OK. Just give him a wee clap and he’ll be happy.”

And, yes, indeed, after a few seconds the neighbours tentatively burst into a round of applause.

 

The name game

THE Diary has always been fascinated by the exotic names Ikea uses for its furniture range.

At the opening of a Glasgow store a woman shopper was pondering a product called Knott, and the advertising display board which read: “Knott £7.99.’

Eventually she plucked up the courage to ask an assistant: “Well, if it’s not £7.99, what price is it?”

 

Cashing out

AN OPTIMISTIC reader once told us: “I’m already working on my second million pounds.” Slightly less optimistically, he added: “I’ve already given up on the first one.”