John Gibson: Don't worry about the words . .

You've got be there. We've all got to be there. They're having a Singalong-a-Calamity-Jane Saturday matinee at the Filmhouse tomorrow.

You know the songs that Doris Day and Howard Keel made famous - Deadwood Stage, Secret Love, Just Blew in from the Windy City. If you've forgotten most of the words, don't fret. The lyrics will be projected on to the screen.

So no excuses. Take the kids with you. Don't be shy. Wear calamity clothes. I wear them all the time.

Howard's long gone, incidentally. But Doris, a remarkable 87 and fervent animal rights activist since she retired, was born Doris Mary Ann Kappelhoff of German immigrant parents.

You were dying to know.

On the march

Off and running. Well, off and sailing. Then off and driving. It's grand old soldier Brian Leishman, 21-year business manager of the Tattoo after 21 years in the Cameronians (Scottish Rifles), the galloping major today heading by land and sea to his retreat on a hillside in Umbria.

An annual jaunt from Edinburgh and this time until November, broken by a week snatched to see the Tattoo.

"It may well be that I can't get the Tattoo out of my system. There's no known cure. For sure I can't get the army out of my blood. Never will. The Cameronians, now disbanded, were famously quick marchers . . . at all of 140 paces to the minute. And that included our band. On a hot day we'd be thoroughly knackered."

But Brian Leishman MBE kept soldiering on. The Italian natives confirm he refrains from marching up that hill to his but and ben in Umbria.

Afterwords . .

. . . Back out of the cupboard, Debbie Harry is deliberating: "When I was a kid I thought all English guys were like Ringo Starr and I wanted to marry one. Now just give me a nice guy and good sex. A brain is optional." So Ringo Starr had a brain?