Brought to book GLASGOW, as we often point out, is a cultured city where the locals have a deep appreciation of literature. Ron Taylor was in the Waterstones book shop in Argyle Street when he overheard a teenage girl chatting to her mother. “You don’t know who Mary Shelley is?” said the astonished youth.
“She wrote Frankenstein.” The mother was not especially impressed, and merely replied: “I dinnae read books, but. I bet you dinnae know hauf the footballers I know.
” Criminally talented AN inspiring tale involving a master and his disciple, who rapidly shows himself to be a brilliant prodigy. Colin Williams is a partner in a Dundee criminal law firm where a uni graduate was hired a few weeks ago. Colin, who is perhaps a tad cynical after defending dodgy dudes and deranged dames for many decades, said to this young fellow: “After a few years working here, you’ll start to despise the human race.
” Sounding a note of defiance, the trainee replied: “Oh, no. I despised the human race long before I came here.” Hard to swallow THE Diary is making famous music acts edible.
Reader David Donaldson points out that there are some bands that just can’t be eaten. To prove his point he recalls a grand house in Sydenham Road in the 1960s, where he met the late campaigning journalist Paul Foot, who was training as a hack with a local Glasgow tabloid. “Foot was living in what had been the billiard room, and there was a bunch of musicians there, too,” says David.
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