What did they call a female high-flier in the seventies? The week in the Herald Diary

What did they call a female high-flier in the seventies? The week in the Herald Diary

A DIARY yarn about a snooty store assistant reminds Gordon Fisher from Stewarton of the time his daughter started working in a city centre hostelry. To make sure she was settling in, Gordon and a chum popped round to partake of some refreshment.

“I raised a £20 note in the air to attract the attention of my surely-delighted-to-see-me daughter,” recalls Gordon.

Taking the payment, she promptly ran the money under the bar’s UV light sensor to check it wasn’t dodgy.

She then scored it aggressively with the security pen, held it up so she could squint at it in the light, shot Gordon a dirty look, then finally asked another bartender if he thought the currency was pucker.

When she finally arrived with the change, Gordon’s mate said: “My goodness, that’s terrible! That’s your dad.” “I know,” she responded tartly. “That’s why I needed to be sure.”

Sassy in sales

SEXISM can be infuriating in the workplace, points out reader Sheila Adams from Cumbernauld, who had a successful career in the 1970s as a saleswoman in medical supplies.

Unfortunately many of her male colleagues didn’t like her demands to be treated equally.

“So they devised a nickname for me that I have to admit made me chuckle,” says Shelia. “I became a revolutionary figure in the office, who was known fearfully as She Guevara.”

Breezy badinage

SINCE discovering that Boris Johnson has been belting out classic songs in Downing Street, we’ve been guessing what tunes he might enjoy warbling.

Bryce Drummond from Kilmarnock suggests a famous Maurice Chevalier number, with the lyrics slightly amended to: “Every little breeze seems to mention more sleaze.”

Hot gossip

IN a café in Glasgow’s West End, reader Pamela Austin overheard two elderly, well-dressed ladies chatting at the next table.

One lady delightedly whispered to her chum what she no doubt assumed was a titbit of tantalising gossip.

The chum didn’t look particularly captivated.

“Well, I must say,” she sniffed, “that was moderately interesting.”

What’s the beef?

OUR discussion of the perils of taking children to museums reminds Teresa Milligan of visiting the Tower of London with her six-year-old son, Edward.

One exhibit was a life-sized mannequin of a Beefeater in a glass case. Edward studied it intently before asking: “Was the man killed before he was stuffed, or did they just stuff him anyway?”

Double delight

“I WAS in a bookshop and spotted a book titled ‘How To Solve 50% of Your Problems’,” says reader Mike Peterson. “So I bought two.”

Shop shrug

WITH a deep sense of ennui, reader Jennifer Young says: “If you’ve seen one shopping centre, you’ve seen a mall.”

Milky matters

“THE hardest part of producing skimmed milk,” explains reader Ed Brown, “ is throwing the cows across the lake.”

Roundly terrified

WISE reader Gavin Hodge points out that the only thing flat earthers have to fear is sphere itself.

Bottle battle

LAST weekend Andy Murphy from Paisley was preparing for a wine-soaked evening at home with the wife when his daughter phoned to plead with mum and dad to look after her baby so she could go out.

Andy reluctantly agreed to stay sensibly sober, though his wife continued tippling.

“I took charge of a bottle of milk and a bottle of red,” says Andy. “And I was never entirely sure who to feed first in order to prevent a night of grumpy greeting.”

Table waiting

A DIARY tale about vegetarianism reminds Iain Munro of visiting a swanky Edinburgh restaurant and ordering a meal called vegan rainbow pasta.

After waiting 45 minutes for it to arrive he enquired where it was. The snooty waiter informed him that such a dish took time to prepare.

“Is that because you have to wait till the end of a downpour?” asked an exasperated Iain. “So you have a fresh rainbow to cook?”

Love hurts

ROMANCE can be painful, especially when you lose your beloved. Reader Diane Roberts mentioned to her 16-year-old son that his favourite Chinese buffet restaurant had closed down.

“I didn’t even get a last chance to say goodbye,” he sniffled.

Kicking off

BAMBOOZLED reader Nicholas Lamb says: “When my wife says we need to talk, why is it never about football?”

* Read Lorne Jackson’s Diary every day in The Herald


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