IN the jaunty, piano-tinkling words of cheery, cockney crooners Chas ‘n’ Dave, “snooker loopy nuts are we, me and him and them and me, we’ll show you what we can do, with a load of balls and a snooker cue.” It actually sounds more like the lively actions at a guffawing initiation ceremony down at the local rugby club. There’s a point to all this chalk-tipped titillation, of course. The World Snooker Championships get underway next weekend at The Crucible, that venerated theatre of green-baize artistry, stifled bronchial coughs and ghostly echoes of the late, great Ted Lowe’s whispering snookery wisdom.

Talking of all things potty brings us seamlessly into the mad-cap world of Donald Trump, whose various crash, bang, wallop spoutings and posturings will probably lead to mankind itself requiring snookers to get out of the mess. Like many a curious onlooker, the diarist has been intrigued by racy tales of the President of the USA’s dalliances with a certain female known for her, shall we say, energetic exertions on screen. And no, we’re not talking about former TV-Am fitness guru Lizzie Webb.

It is, of course the delightfully named Stormy Daniels. And what, pray tell, has that got to do with snooker? Well, apparently Trump was always asking for a rest during the clandestine tryst. And, along with greats like Hurricane Higgins and Whirlwind White, the diarist actually thought Stormy Daniels was part of a shimmering triumvirate of meteorological-monikered sharpshooters of the 1980s ...

IT’S all happening Down Under with this Commonwealth cornucopia. Amid the Gold Coast endeavour, the Australian National Sheepdog Championship was toasting 75 years of woolly ruminant mammals being cajoled into a pen by obedient canines. Apparently, the aforementioned Trump, who is partial to a bit of, ahem, mutton, cast his eye over the trials during his recent discussions about steel imports with the Aussies. “Fake ewes,” bleated the President of the USA.

YOU only had one job. Commonwealth Games cyclist Melissa Lowther was left well and truly scunnered when Team England officials failed to tick a box on her entry form for the time trial. The administrative boo-boo meant she couldn’t feature in the race and her medal hopes were scuppered. The diarist could sympathise. This back page fiasco doesn’t tick any boxes with the sports editor.

THERE was much tittering this week when Hearts released a £79 commemorative Lego bus to mark the 20th anniversary of the Capital club’s Scottish Cup win over Rangers in 1998. In Govan, meanwhile, the Rangers marketing department were considering the idea of documenting their recent managers in a children’s fabric game ... but they swiftly realised that none of them had the sturdy stickability of a Fuzzy Felt.

THE grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. Then again, the diarist’s neighbour’s lawn is a bloomin’ disgrace. Arsenal fans may have been calling for the head of Arsene Wenger this season but at least the Gunners have not been relegated. Which is more than can be said of the Argentinean side, Arsenal Futbol Club, who took the undignified plunge last weekend and dropped out of the top flight for the first time in their history. The Buenos Aires outfit are affectionately known in local circles as ‘El Arse’. And here’s the diarist thinking that was the name given to Pedro Caixinha by cosmopolitan regulars in the Louden Tavern?

THE diarist has always had an uncomfortable relationship with gambling. On one ill-fated visit to the casino, for instance, I was hovering nervously around the roulette table. “Do you have the chits?” asked the croupier. “I will if this doesn’t come up red,” came the anxious reply. At Aintree today, meanwhile, tensions will be high and betting slips will get torn up like Lester Piggott’s tax return in the clippety-clop cuddy carnage that is the Grand National. The first official National was run back in 1839 and was won by a horse called Lottery. Funnily enough, that’s the same name given to the SPFL’s prolonged palaver over the post-split fixtures in the Premiership ...