The gigging Pig

WE mentioned the glorious era of the Glesga shipyards, a time when metal panelling on ships got hammered, then the thirsty workforce galloped off to the local boozer to do likewise.

Comedian Andy Cameron recalls a chap who worked in the yards and also performed in the pubs around Govan.

His nickname was The Pig.

This porcine fellow was a regular in the Rolls-Royce Club in Paisley Road where Andy was the Sunday lunchtime compère.

The Pig would sing a couple of Al Jolson songs then describe his week, and once said: “Ah slept in the other day, and was struggling tae get ma working claes oan, when the wife peeped oot fae under the bedclaes and says, ‘Ya stupid auld eejit, you’ve got thae boots oan the wrang feet.’

“And ah says, ‘Aye, you’re right, hen. It’s your feet they should be oan’.”

 

A small matter

LINGUISTICALLY-CURIOUS reader Chris Miller says: “Isn’t it strange that some words keep shrinking. We used to watch ‘advertisements’ on the ‘television’. Then it was adverts on the telly.

Now it’s ads on TV.”

Says Chris: “Is this where the shrinkage ends, or are there any more letters we can bin?”

 

Pooch in pack

WE mentioned the curious sighting of a chap riding on a bicycle in Govan while carrying a large dog in his rucksack.

Reader Bill Thompson thinks it’s easily explained, and says: “Is it not obvious that the cyclist with the backpack works for Deliveroo and is delivering a hot dog.”

 

Holyrood goes Hollywood

IT’S a struggle keeping up with Scottish politics, especially when the SNP insists on changing leaders with the gleeful abandon of Taylor Swift swapping costumes in her stage show.
Reader David Donaldson is clearly enjoying the dizzying thrill of the Holyrood merry-go-round, and says: “It’s high time Scottish television produced a political drama series along the lines of The West Wing or Veep. How about The Swinney?”

 

Scrub that

DISAPPOINTED reader Judith Adams says the dishwasher she bought isn’t very good.

“It keeps ruining my paper plates,” she says.

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Pathfinder

DECIDING to get fit for summer, reader Fraser Prescott said to his wife: “I’d like to join a gym, though one that’s nearby and is really cheap.”

“I know the very one,” replied his wife. “It’s called walking on the path next to the house.”


Rancid revelation

CONFESSION time.

“I’ve done some terrible things for money,” says thoroughly ashamed reader Kate Walker. “Including getting up early and going to work.”