John Gibson: A richt guid dram with Aly and Phil

YOU never know with bankers, do you? It's no secret Angus Grossart, Edinburgh's best known, mogulish merchant banker, savours frequenting the Capital's social circles. Must admit I'm of similar mind.

But he never told me he's a singer. Two of Scotland's foremost musicians on the traditional scene, Aly Bain and Phil Cunningham, chums of his, asked him up to a ceilidh in Fyvie, a village in Aberdeenshire's back-of-beyond, where they persuaded him to say a few words and, yes, give the locals a song.

Says Sir Angus: "I thought the Bonnie Lass o' Fyvie appropriate and gave them a couple of choruses.

"And they seemed relieved, if not surprised, to have in their midst a banker who's still gainfully employed."

Aye, bankers these days, you just don't know what they're up to. Angus will be revealing next that he's also a closet accordionist. He'd be expert on that, used to putting the squeeze on people.

Some light relief
A GP acquaintance based down south, out of harm's way from the nursing profession in the Edinburgh area after risking their wrath, is asking (light-heartedly, of course): "How many nurses does it take to change a light bulb?"

And the answer: "None, they just write 'light bulb broken, doctor informed' in the diary."

Everything's changed in nursing. Not like the days when they removed my tonsils in Leith Hospital. For posterity, of course.

Jazz governors
Musical chairs. Can it be true? Till now, members of the Edinburgh International Jazz Festival have been "directors". From here on, in a re-write of the board's constitution, they'll be known as "governors". So next time you're at a jazz event and you recognise a member of this august body, a cheery "'ello, guv!" will be in order. As did Duke Ellington and Earl Hines revel in their titles, so did Count Basie, known as "chairman of the board".

Afterwords . .
. . . Somebody I'd forgotten on my cards list – one for Enoch Powell. A colourful Christmas to you Enoch, wherever you are.