Carolyn is top of the pops

"HER lips were made to kiss megaphones" sounds like a lyric from Morrissey, but the phrase is our man Rab McNeil’s, referring to Carolyn Leckie of the SSP. It appeared in the Michelin guide to Scottish politics, Rab’s rundown on MSPs, published in The Scotsman earlier this month. And now it has inspired the title of Tommy MacKay’s latest hit.

Talent night at the Waverley Bar on the Royal Mile saw the editor of the DailyReckless website give the first airing of Her Lips Were Made To Kiss Megaphones.

A reviewer wrote: "Her Lips Were Made To Kiss Megaphones, lyric by Rob [sic] McNeil (The Scotsman) about Carolyn Leckie of the SSP, is a fine song built around a circular guitar lick, almost good enough to make you want to go out and vote".

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So while Frank McAveety may talk the talk in his record reviews and Mike "Hank" Pringle is a Shadow of the man he was, Carolyn Leckie, the muse for McNeil and MacKay, is top of the pops in Parliament.

A Fyne couple

THE Insider of all insiders calls to chastise us. "Firstly, I thought we had agreed that neither Granita nor Montpeliers was the venue for the infamous Blair-Brown pact but, rather, Nick Ryden’s Polwarth flat?"

Indeed, we did exclusively bring the story to that denouement in Diaries past. We also had to hold our hands up. Hacks cook up these stories about history happening in eateries (now including Loch Fyne) to justify expenses wining and dining as work rather than play.

Meanwhile, our man points out that the charming and late lamented Johnnie Noble, the founder and proprietor of Loch Fyne Oysters, had a motto: "Eat oysters, love longer".

A sentiment seemingly unknown to the Labour heavies. Unless, that is, this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship between Irn Broon and Two Jags.

The cooncil life of Brian is an Edinburgh record

"THE Last Tory Leader in Edinburgh" was the toast to the city’s longest-serving councillor ever.

Brian Meek, scribe and politico, has notched up 35 years on the cooncil. Among them were four as convener of Lothian Region at the height of Thatcherism while other Tories were being laid waste across the land.

"I was 42 when I took up the post, and four years later when it ended I felt about 57," Brian recalled. That’s what coalition with Donald Gorrie and the Liberals does to you. Those he’d served with over the years included two former foreign secretaries, Robin Cook and his old pal Malcolm Rifkind.

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He is still one of the wittiest and most erudite speakers at the council (not difficult, you may say), but this has also been reflected in his journalism as sports writer and political columnist for the Express and the Herald.

We only once saw Brian’s professionalism slip. It was in the press box at the Millennium derby at Tynecastle. As Hibs’ third goal went in, there were spontaneous yelps of joy and vigorous handshakes between him and two colleagues - the guilty men who had led him astray: John Gibson, another true-blue Hibbie, and yours truly.

• THERE is dedication beyond the call of duty, and then there is Kevin Pringle. The SNP press officer, and Alex Salmond’s bag-carrier at Westminster, steps down today to take up a new job as PR manager at Scottish Gas. More than entitled to holiday leave, Kevin will be putting his feet up running the SNP press office for its Euro election campaign. As our man at Westminster tells us: "Poor Pringle rarely saw the light of day. He even used to camp overnight in the office."

Standing on the platform, talking tommyrot

ONE of the D-Day Dodgers calls on the anniversary of Monte Cassino. It was Lady Astor who accused the Eighth Army of being D-Day Dodgers in Parliament, and a young Scottish major in the 51st Highland Division was inspired to reply in kind. Hamish Henderson, then an intelligence officer, penned the lyrics to the tune of Lili Marlene for what was to become the anthem of the Eighth as it fought its way up Italy. (Other literati D-Dodging the bullets included Sorley MacLean and Eddie Morgan).

Indeed, the Diary had the pleasure of hearing Hamish himself sing his song in Sandy Bell’s on more than one occasion, including the verse dedicated to the good Lady:

Dear Lady Astor, you think you’re mighty hot,

Standing on the platform, talking tommyrot.

You’re England’s sweetheart and her pride

We think your mouth’s too bleeding wide.

We are the D-Day Dodgers, in sunny Italy

Always on the vino, always on the spree …

• OUR man Simon Lyons offers a sorry tale on the Irish smoking ban. Three guys were in a Kerry pub after-hours for a lock-in. They went outside for a fag. A passing Gardai car spotted them - and nicked them for drinking after-hours.