Pure dead brilliant NEXT week the USA will have a brand spanking new President. (Or slightly shopsoiled one, if Trump bags the job.) The Diary has admitted before that we’re not especially enthused by either candidate, Donald or Kamala.
He talks too much, she refuses to say anything of substance. It might be late in the day, but we’re now demanding that both candidates step aside, and let George Washington take over. We concede that, unlike Trump, George isn’t merely shop-soiled.
He’s graveyard-soiled, too, having been dead for some time. On the credit side, he’s more popular with American voters than the living candidates. In his day he was also very photogenic, or oil-painting-genic, as it must have been known back then.
His teeth were false, and made from wood. But we’re guessing they had a few coats of varnish, and sparkled like the gnashers of a Hollywood starlet. So bring back the Top G, we say.
On the subject of popular classics, here’s a few of the finest stories from our archives...
The name game EVIDENCE that the Church of Scotland now means less to the youth of the country. A young woman watching telly saw a chap appear on the screen. Below him was the caption "Kirk Moderator".
In all seriousness, she said to her sister: “That’s an unusual name. Do you think he’s Canadian?” Boxing (not) clever A CONFUSED reader got in touch. He said: “I’ve noticed lots of boxes labelled ‘Fragile This Way Up’, so why arrange them that way?” Fishy obse.