John Gibson: A true case of tender love and care

Published on Friday 18 September 2009 09:10

FLABBERGASTED, so I was, to discover that the longest drive in the history of golf was recorded here, right on our doorstep, next to the main Edinburgh-London rail line. Read on, you'll be amazed.

A ball struck off the tee at Monktonhall landed on the coal tender of the Flying Scotsman and ended up at King's Cross.

The reward for this feat was a presentation silver quaich. It's still in existence, coaldusty, otherwise pristine, displayed on the driver's mantelpiece. The train driver, not the golfer.

My informant is the redoubtable Brian Donkin, owner of the Leith Lynx pub/restaurant in Constitution Street, crossword compiler and ardent golfer over Dunbar and Braids United.

Talking sport, here's a teaser for your next pub quiz: what's the name of the female snooker player who can balance three pints on the end of her cue? Beertricks Potter. You've heard it before? Then don't spoil it for everybody else.

Kay's blind faith

Can't avoid crossing claymores with Kay Hamilton. Trouble is, we both love dogs but her blind faith and allegiance is, for me, taking a breed too far.

Dirleton-based Kay (Duchess of Hamilton) is secretary of Scottish Staffordshire Bull Terrier Rescue when, as proven yet again, too often it's the public who need rescuing. A four-year-old needed 50 stitches to her face in Greenock the other day, savaged by a Staffie that was later destroyed.

People hospitalised in the UK after dog attacks has soared 50 per cent in the last ten years. No reports so far of any owner being put down.

Afterwords . .

&#149 If ever you saw a man looking like he's lost his way, lost the plot, has no reason to be on the planet even, it's our wretched Prime Minister.

With every telecast he seems to be staring into the abyss. Patently aware that he's on a loser with his we-must-win-or-terrorism-will-stalk-our-streets line isn't washing with the public. No, you'd never let him flog you a second-hand car or double glazing or a stand ticket at Raith Rovers. Facing a camera, he wears a hang-dog expression almost as depressing as the suits.

Mind you, you, too, wouldn't be a load of laughs if you were a stand-up comic facing the apocalypse along with your government. Not apocalypse now. Apocalypse before long. For sure.