Sir David ‘‘Don’t call me Dave’’ Attenborough’s living room reportedly is crammed with fossils. Presumably a few self-portraits and busts of himself, then?
Better not be unkind else he sets his gorillas on me. The live boarders at his Surrey home have included chimps and gibbons (I said gibbons, not Gibsons) and armadillos. Doddering David at 86? No way. How else would the BBC give him prime time with “Sixty Years in the Wild”.
As you read, he’s packing the syrup of figs and Marmite for his next safari. The temptation is to say “give over, Dave”. It’s not yet call-it-a-day time. He remains the Beeb’s wild card.
Nish to see you
Well stone the crows, shiver me timbers and Bob’s yer uncle! Who’d have imagined that, of all the strikers tipped out of Easter Road, Colin Nish at the weekend would put the final nail in the Hibernian coffin with a late, late penalty goal. Went down like a sack of tatties in the box, I’m told.
Funny old game, football. See all the derogatory digs this column had at Colin . . . I’m resolutely unapologetic.
Key man, Stan
Another member of Sandy Brown’s revered band has passed away. There’s bound to be some fabulous jazz up there. Edinburgher Stan Greig, a cornerstone on piano with Sandy, died at the weekend.
I heard the sad news from Bill Strachan, a drummer who played alongside Stan and Sandy. Stan, based in London most of his working life, also played for Acker Bilk and Humphrey Lyttelton.