Up hands if you’re desperate for a roarin’ good laugh to cheer you up?
But when you can’t socialise with friends, where do you get a right old belly-jiggler?
Not on the telly. The new comedians on various quiz and stand-up shows are about as funny as a dose o’ the skitters.
If only the Beeb’s extortionately expensive Scotland channel – which serves up some dreich McDross – could treat us to repeats of Rikki Fulton’s Scotch and Rye and dig out archives of comic geniuses like Lex McLean, Chic Murray, Jack Milroy and the Scotland The What? trio.
As carefree teenagers, me and my pal Jenny seemed to spend every day giggling like gypes. Her and her wonky bladder meant she’d regularly tiddle hersellie, trying to control the flow by running, cross-legged, from the scene. Tell the truth, I’d frequently have an accident just watchin’ her.
One of our most sodden places was the carnie, as we called it, where we’d snort and snicker from the top of the big wheel doon to the walzers.
And it so happens, I had one of the best laughs of this dismal year on Monday at that very same place, aka Codona’s, when I treated my quine and her family to three-hour wristbands.
The Toots never stopped smiling from the moment they capered through the gates,the scarier the ride the better. They hadn’t been on the go-karts before, so dad took them one-by-one, the rest of us at the fence watching them power down and round the hill.
Come the six-year-old loon’s turn, as we waved, he gave us a gorgeous, gap-toothed smile. Next time roon, his mum muttered: “He seems to be slipping down the seat.” Next time, his wee heidie was definitely further doon, about level with his dad’s elbow. I chuckled, “Next time, we might not see him at all”. Many a true word… by then, I was startin’ to giggle.
When they whooshed doon on that last lap, my darling wee boy – although still securely and safely strapped in – was hardly there ava’; virtually laid oot straight on the bottom of the kart (I blame a slippy anorak) with just the top of his auburn hair visible.
Well, that was me. Total hysterics. Had to walk away, but couldn’t get the sight oot o’ my daft napper. Helplessly heaving, uh-uh, I realised I should have gone to the lavvie when I first needed. All I could do was stand, cross-legged, pray… and clench.
Minutes later, as we went to meet dad and his disappearing co-rider, my grand-daughter shouted, for the world to hear: “Nana wet herself!” I did. And much better I feel for it. Like I was sweet 16 again.
Glitter ball losing its sparkle as show past its sell-by
I kinda wish Strictly Come Dancing hadn’t managed to conquer the curse of Covid with a series of pre-planned isolations, recorded dance routines and I dinna-ken-fit.
Because, let’s face it, the whole shebang is now well past its sell-by.
The glitter ball’s beginning to tarnish. And if you could actually see Claudia’s eyes, ticky-bets they’d be glazed.
Same old, same old. The names are still unspellable and unpronounceable – including, this year, a HRVY.
The “celebs” still fake hysterical delight when allocated a partner, although Clara Amfo (fa she?) took it to a whole new, loonie level on Saturday when she devoured Aljaz Skorjanec.
And Anton is still partnering the old bird of the bunch, former home secretary Jacqui Smith.
Unfortunately, from what we could see of that first birl together, Ms Smith will soon be a gonner.
Highlight of the show was Ant’s frozen, anguished expression when asked: “Has she got a sense of rhythm?”
It’s also clear magnificent-mover Maisie Smith and her Gorka look shoe-ins as winners.
Or will viewers go all PC and vote for the two quines?
Hopefully Bill Bailey will give us some much-needed, Ed Balls-style laughs.
But on the whole, it’s strictly yawnsville.
Flu shot shambles making me feel ill
It’s unkind to say a brewery comes to mind but could the over-65s flu vaccination scheme in Aberdeen be more of a shambles?
Several of my mates got their letters the day after their appointments, then spent hours unsuccessfully trying to organise new slots.
A couple just had time to leap in the car and speed to the jab-centre.
Me? As I write, neither hide nor hair of an appointment letter, which is a bit of a worry since I think I have to go to the local primary, and schools go back on Monday. However, statements from the NHS urge me to be patient and my time will soon come.
I won’t hold my breath.
This article originally appeared on the Evening Express website. For more information, read about our new combined website.
