Scargill on the spot
A NAE Luck Award (First Class) to Arthur Scargill, president of what's
left of the National Union of Mineworkers. The NUM, with a severely
depleted membership, has been in the throes of painful cutbacks and
staff rationalisation.
Oor Arthur spotted that the European Community had been pouring funds
into British Coal's redundancy and rundown programmes. So why not EC
funds for the NUM's own programme of retrenchment estimated to cost at
least #5m?
Arthur wrote to Padraig Flynn, the EC commissioner in charge of
handing out lolly to former miners. Yes, said Mr Flynn, it seemed
entirely reasonable to help the NUM. But EC regulations meant that the
approach for cash aid to the miners' union would have to come directly
from the British Government.
So Arthur, who is not exactly the best of chums with the Tory
Government, had to bite the bullet and write to Michael Heseltine at the
Department of Trade and Industry asking him to recommend the NUM for a
spot of Community cash.
You will not be amazed to hear that the answer was in the negative.
Assault on the senses
THE Diary would be remiss in our duty if we did not warn the citizenry
of Glasgow that their ears are about to be assaulted with much tuneless
effluence from sundry musical instruments.
Yes, the city's International Jazz Festival has begun and goes on for
a further 10 days.
More evidence that this form of ''music'' is an abomination unto the
lugholes of the godly comes in an admission from Mr Jim Smith, director
of this very festival, that he plays jazz saxophone to his children when
they have been bad. It is, he says, an effective deterrent.
Mr Smith admitted this to the Diary at the launching of the festival's
major venue, an old fruitmarket in Albion Street. It is seedy and basic
and an entirely appropriate location for jazz.
There is, however, a major problem with the acoustics. If you're in
the bar in the foyer, you can still hear the music from the auditorium.
The Name Game
THE chap in charge of the recently formed Health-in-Mind project in
Saltcoats is a Mr George Nutman.
None so daft as folk
AN amusing aspect of the lively modern ceilidh band scene is the
ingenuity involved in selecting stage names for the respective combos.
When the first International Ceilidh Band Competition was held in
conjunction with the Isle of Bute Folk Festival last summer, Billy
Connolly put up a prize for the band with the daftest name.
Taking part in the contest last July were, among others, Stairheid
Dynamite, Tyrone Shoe Laces, Cary Grant And Let The Rest Walk, and a
cheeky little Glasgow outfit called Folk Ewe. The last-named were
politely advised to go back to the drawing board namewise before
re-entering for this year's event.
They did. They are in this year's competition, beginning on July 24,
as Folk Ewe Two. The Diary's favourite name this year? The Govan
Spoonful.
Out for the count
IN the for sale column of the Competitor's Companion, the bible for
those quiz-crazy people whose cupboards are full of tins with no labels
on them, we find this: ''#500 Dracula Tour to Romania voucher. Valid
until September, 1993. Will accept #300 or swop for bathroom suite.''
Petticoat Pope
ALMOST every publication these days has a section devoted to questions
and answers on trivial but engrossing issues. Slightly more intriguing
than most is the feature of this nature in New Internationalist
magazine.
The first questions in the Curiosities feature is: ''I've heard that
part of the ceremony of Pope-making involves touching of the testicles.
If this is true, how and why did this curious custom come about?''
The query produced many answers which we will not go into in this
ecumenical newspaper. The most informed reply supporting the possible
existence of this ritual referred to the legend of a woman who became
Pope.
She was Joan, an English girl who travelled through Europe disguised
as a monk. She rose through the ranks undetected, was made a cardinal by
Pope Leo IV, and succeeded him in 853 as Pope John VIII.
Pope Joan ruled for two years until she gave birth during a papal
procession and was stoned to death. The Vatican officially declared this
story mythical in 1601 but there is the slight problem that John VIII
had been on the list of popes for some 700 years before history was
rewritten.
Anyway, that is what the magazine New Internationalist says. Filmgoers
may recall that the story was made into a movie with Liv Ullmann as Pope
Joan so it must be true. At the very least it brings a new dimension to
the mnemonic for the execution of the Sign of the Cross -- spectacles,
testicles, wallet, watch.
Relocation
WE Scots are not slow to slag the English when their knowledge of
Scottish geography is less than perfect. But step forward the Scots
Independent, organ of the SNP, which this month has located Dumfries in
the South of England.
Stumped
STUDENTS of rough cricket might be interested in a charity match at
Drumpellier in Coatbridge on Sunday afternoon when Tam the Bam from the
Diary makes a very belated debut with the bat.
Cricket is a dangerous game so we have asked for full body armour, a
crash helmet, and an assurance that a tennis ball, not a cricket ball,
will be bowled at us. Underhand.
Why, we can hear you ask, should such a coward agree to take part in
the first place? The event is to raise cash for the Bone Marrow Trust.
And we might get the chance to ask Drumpellier's professional, Alistair
Storrie, how Coatbridge compares with the Orange Free State, where he
used to play.
This snap was taken during a trip to the Porgera gold field, deep in
the jungles of Papua New Guinea, by Professor William McEwan, director
of the Quality Centre at the University of Paisley. The translation
underneath this dire warning is, as you probably already knew, local
pidgin dialect.
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