John Gibson: Nurse, nurse fetch me a bedpan!

Don't bank on a bed in the Western or the Infirmary if and when you are poorly. The NHS (Alex Salmond knows no shame) are so skint that in desperation they may have to send you to Bulgaria or Romania for routine treatment.

Am I joking? No I'm not. Some of my readers are feverishly thumbing through Romanian and Bulgarian phrase books right now and taking crash courses to find the lingo for "nurse, ah need a bedpan" and "doctor, ah think ah've just done it in ma breeks."

Eye-watering

Cry me a river. I'll have to ring Ladbrokes and check what odds they're offering on who will be first to snivel for the cameras at the wedding on Saturday.

Can't be Fergie, her hankies are still wringing from her latest cabaret performance on American TV at the weekend.

Dammit, I may well have a wee bubble myself. You'll be able to pick me out in the crowd with my fascinator and green scarf.

Norse nutter

From my mailbag, a couple of queries on the Norwegian slaying. A, Where did the nut case get that military uniform festooned with gold braid and medals? Armstrongs the second-hand clothes dealers in the Grassmarket?

And B, why didn't they shoot him dead at the scene of the slaughter and deny him the satisfaction of seeing the media coverage he craved?

I can only surmise he borrowed that uniform from Gaddafi.

Afterwords . .

. . . Emma Watson. The Harry Potter lass is here, there and everywhere. Those couldn't have been her legs I ogled from a 22 bus yesterday? I must have been imagining things. But that was Hagrid I spotted, for sure, in the Leicester Square crowd for the premiere of the last of the Potter films. You couldn't miss him. To be treated as a traffic roundabout.