LIFESTYLE: ALISON'S DIARY

Jul 8 2007 Alison Craig

SPOT A CAR I LIKE IN THE STREET AND STARE AT IT..UNTIL I REALISE THERE ARE TWO GUYS IN IT WHO THINK I'M TRYING TO PICK THEM UP

MONDAY

Dave's cousin arrives from the USA destitute. I ask:

"What's happened? Family trauma?" Turns out his golf clubs are missing. Men. After a series of phone calls and near tears he's told they are on the next flight. His mood lightens but it's not business as usual until they are disgorged from the back of the next plane. Phew.

The only problem now is he is dressed for Texas, where he lives, not Edinburgh, which is experiencing the coldest, wettest summer in history. The shorts and T-shirt are duly dumped and he slips on waterproofs and winter woollies that Dave digs out for him. Lamb.

TUESDAY

Phone my Dad after reading that there is a national shortage of ukuleles. My dad has played the instrument - made popular by George Formby in the 30s - since he was nine. He is now 79 and gives a demonstration of his technique on this week's podcast.

I remember sitting outside many a bar, restaurant and golf club as a child while he played his ukulele. He is a maestro and always brought the house down. He taught me when I was about eight and my friend Corinne, too.

We played it at school, while guising and ever since round a table late at night.

It has been the instigator of a lot of fun over the years. I recall one night when I was about 12, the doorbell went and it was a full Spanish combo led by a bloke called Jose. They were standing in full national regalia outside our house in Aberdeen. That was a night and a half. Maybe the ukulele should be used in international relations and the world would be a better, more musical, tuneful and ridiculous place!

WEDNESDAY

When I first moved to Edinburgh I answered an ad in the paper to buy a car. Within the hour this bloke came round with a bright yellow Ford Escort. He handed me the keys and I drove it round the block. It started and stopped but I gave him £120 cash and, smiling, he left quickly. It listed a bit to the left so just to be on the safe side I drove it to a garage.

The mechanic took one look at it and told me it was a death trap. "Let me see the registration documents," he demanded. The what? I had not received or asked for one scrap of paper - not even a receipt for the money I coughed up. I might as well have taken it out of the bank and set it on fire. So I left it there to be scrapped, got a bus back into town and sat seething that I was such a prat. The memories have returned as I've decided to get a new car.

I aye read the car reviews in the Sunday Mail as they are in English and not car speak, so with this knowledge I have started to stare at motors I like the look of.

I spot one I like today and am staring at it yet not paying any attention to the two blokes sitting in it.

The driver clearly thinks I am eyeing him up though, as when I catch his eye his lips peel back to reveal a rather leery grin. He thinks I am trying to pick him up!

Mortified, I rushed off in the other direction. At least I found out it was a Peugeot 206. The tagline should be: "Driven by cheeky blokes and blushing women." Test-driving one next week.

THURSDAY

Go to the opening of new cafe Zanzerro and meet about six people I know. Drink two bottles of chardonnay on an empty stomach then eat delicious food and fall out of the place two hours later much worse for wear.

I suspect this was really what Robert Louis Stevenson based Jekyll and Hyde on. I arrive fresh-faced, coherent and chatty but leave red-eyed, waffling and emotional, listing to the left.

FRIDAY

A monster faces me when I foolishly look in the mirror this morning. Hair on end and tangled. Matted, in fact.

How does this happen? My hair is straight and smooth when I fall into bed like a stone. I'm sure I didn't move for the duration of my sleep but when I get up my hair is like a dry bush, tangled and knotted.

SATURDAY

Counting down to my holiday in sunnier climes. I can't abide another moment of this weather. Having a twoweek extravaganza in Puerto Pollensa with a crowd of old pals. The swimsuit is a disaster though. It's black, stretchy and unfortunately doesn't cover my legs.

It's a shame How To Look Good Naked has finished on TV but I will try to visualise the presenter Gok Wan and his advice as I slide my stretch kaftan over my hurdies and shuffle to the poolside. Maybe my confidence will at least let me get into the pool without all my clothes on.

No promises, mind.

GOING ON HOLS SOON BUT MY SWIMSUIT IS A DISASTER..IT'S BLACK STRETCHY AND DOESN'T COVER MY LEGS. DOUBT I'LL MAKE IT TO THE POOL WITHOUT CLOTHES ON

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Editor: Liz Cowan l.cowan@sundaymail.co.uk

Deputy editor: Mickey McMonagle m.mcmonagle@sundaymail.co.uk

Production editor: Hamish Burns

Editorial assistant: Avril Cadden a.cadden@sundaymail.co.uk

Picture research: Blair Stewart