It’s got to be an all-ticket affair. The Edinburgh City Council’s mandatory (be there or they’ll cancel your tea and biccies allowance) special meeting tomorrow. The trams. What else!
It’s bound to top The Gathering for waffle. Will Bilfinger Berger, the Germans who’ve been embroiled in the mess, be there? For lunch, fishfinger and hamberger, served by Jenny Dawe, seemingly and incredibly shocked and stunned at the public’s outrage over the endless trams fiasco.
So many bunglers under the same roof tomorrow. We could rid ourselves of them at one go. Tell you what, anybody with a small nuclear device tucked up their jumper, ring me and I’ll light the blue touch paper.
Watch out, Eck
Americans in the nation’s delis must be choking on their eggs over-easy and hash browns and gallon of coffee when they read this column on screen in their Evening News.
The sheer brass neck of Al Megrahi’s kin, begging Scotland for more of the £3,000-a-month pills that prolong his life. Al’s been slipping in and out of a coma – and jail – since 270 people died over Lockerbie in a plane blown out of the sky by a terrorist. Al the fall guy. Is he worthy of the medication?
Alex Salmond, ever the good guy, is saying let Megrahi die in peace. Mind how you go, Alex, next time you land in the US.
Was that not the absolute pits? Sunday’s early-evening news saw the BBC wheel in John Simpson for his expert opinion on the Tripoli situation. He had absolutely nothing to tell us. But nothing.
You mean to say you got appearance money – our money – for that, mate? Richard Wilson would not believe it.
Afterwords . .
. . . we’ve got Jane Fonda jawing again: “I go to bed early. I meditate.” Good for you, Jane, but think not about yet another book. They’re tiresome and, anyway, no woman’s ever going to look like you at your age. And without your money.