Out of tune

More inebriated ladies at gigs, and Mike Ritchie recalls a suitably refreshed audience member who kept shouting out for a particular song when American singer/songwriter Mary Gauthier was at The Tron in Glasgow. Says Mike: “First time round, Mary merely smiled and said, ‘I’ll get to it.’ After her next song, and the next, the same request was slurred out, and Mary said eventually: ‘Sorry, I really can’t make out what you're saying.’

“When the song title was finally enunciated clearly enough for Mary to hear what was being asked, she hesitated then replied: ‘Hell, that’s not even one of my songs!’” Result: exit one inebriated audience member, with escort.

Bru ha-ha

Deedee Cuddihy, author of two books on Irn-Bru, alerts us to the fact that no less an august publication than the Wall Street Journal has now produced a long investigative feature about the controversial beverage. Interviewing respectable citizens, but also Members of Parliament, it finds folk quaffing four litres a day, cheerfully losing their teeth, and stockpiling hundreds of cans in advance of new sugar restrictions.

The drink is linked to Scotland’s fizzy campaign for independence, with the only sour note sounded by Patrick Cormack, a Tory member of the House of Lords, who ululated sniffily: “I wouldn’t ever think of drinking such a thing. I’ve never had an inclination.” Clue, mate. Never had a clue.

Note-perfect

Jotters news, and Largs reader Eric Arbuckle tells us proudly that he held on to his good science one – all properly spine-bound and with elaborately decorated boards – to keep a note of chord sequences when he played banjo in a trad jazz band. Anyone else find a post-school use for their jotters? Must be a ukelele player with a jotter out there somewhere.

Costa bus fare

Unlikely holiday destinations, and reader Ronnie Forrest recalls his gran leaving her home in Largs for a week’s high living in Kilbirnie. The pretty Ayrshire town boasts regular bus services to Glasgow, Paisley and Irvine.

Tax-free

Diary regular John Mulholland arrives hotfoot with news that he has told his wife that, for Lent, he was giving up a three-letter word ending in ‘x’. Says John: “She looked really pleased until I told her it was ‘tax’.”

Meanwhile, another old Diary pal, Andy Cameron, tells us of the gentleman in Castlemilk who, feeling frisky of an evening, cuddled into his wife only to be told: “Ye canny get it. It’s Lent.” Said he, dischuffed: “And who the hell hiv ye lent it tae?”

Countrifried

The Diary’s resident singing newsman Tommy Mackay is back, this time keeping abreast of the chicken crisis at KFC. To the tune of Daddy Sang Bass (“by and by”) by Johnny Cash, he yodels: “Though the chip shop is still open/There's no macaroni pie/KFC Kannae Find Chickens/The British Library cannae find Dickens/What is happening to this country?” Good question, mate.

Art in mouth

Apropos our recent items concerning the different types of artist, Carluke reader Jim McDonald says that, now he’s in his seventies, he’s started to pace his intake of alcohol. This, he says proudly, makes him – all together now – a pace artist. Telling you, I can’t take much more of this.