It's her party and I'll cry if I want to. I've never been to the royal garden party. For one thing, I've never been that desperate for one of HM's cucumber sandwiches. For another, I've never been invited. Besides, I'd look a proper prat in tails.
That said, I'm all for perpetuating the royal whoopee. An entertainment in itself. To see the guests in their finery . . . ill-fitting new high-heeled shoes that hurt and suits that see the light of day only at weddings and funerals . . . as they hob
ble down Holyrood Road, self-conciously making a spectacle of themselves, is a real hoot.
And those hats! You have to giggle. Last time I'd laughed so loud and long Ken Dodd was fracturing a Festival Theatre audience.
Meantime, pass me one of those dinky recycled sandwiches. No, not the cucumber, dear, the cheese.
Girn and bear it Never give up on a good thing. His first groupie, I've caught all of George Benson's Edinburgh gigs. Maybe time to move on, though, and leave him to the karaoke kids.
George, still a formidable guitarist, still bringing with him quality musicians from the States, inevitably has found a new audience and, fair enough if he can keep packing the Playhouse, as he did on Sunday.
Time, instead, for crusty old jazzers to listen to his CDs in peace. Guess I'm girning because I sacrificed the Euro final for this.
He'll be back at the Playhouse in a couple years, by which time, hopefully, most of Sunday's screaming girlies will have matured somewhat.
Incidentally, his MD and keyboards man was Robert De Niro, masquerading as David Garfield.
Afterwords . . . . . The good news for Cathy Jamieson, a front runner for wonky Wendy's job, is that if she wins, very much against the odds, Charlie Miller will be waiting in the wings with his scissors. Cath could use his help.
Talking jobs, Mr Brown, the nation's well aware, clearly isn't up to his. You can smell his fear and it's rubbing off on Alistair who's starting to pong noticeably. Indicative of a Government becoming more aromatic by the day.
The full article contains 358 words and appears in Edinburgh Evening News newspaper.
