All depends on how the newly-formed Forth Bridges Forum plays its hand, the cards dealt by Salmond, the big fish, swimming towards New York last I heard and he’s costing us a packet in fares alone.
We won’t know what the fickle, faceless Forum are hatching (who are these people and how much are we paying them?) because their business will be conducted behind closed doors. In secret.
Right to know. We’re paying their wages.
Scary. Even now, so long after the event, the Tay Bridge disaster gives me the creeps when I see Mr McGonagall rhyme and rant about that awful night. Hold on to your seats, folks, should we have the ultimate disaster.
It’s a secret, even to nonentities like ourselves, we the taxpayers who are financing the Forum.
Fit for a prince
Just like you and me, Wills and Kate have their housing hassles while their pile is being converted to their every whim on the Sandringham estate in Norfolk. A gift from Queenie.
Bedroom tax? What in heaven’s name is that? In the grand plan, outbuildings are being smartened up for security staff.
My mole whispers that the Duke and Duchess have run into snags with their pergola. What’s that, pray? Something you have for pudding?
Afterwords . . .
. . . “You can only be as good as your audience. Sometimes you can be as bad as your audience. But you have to remember you can never be better than them,’’ says Bruce Forsyth, pictured above, still after your loose change with three one-man shows next month.