ALISON'S DIARY

Aug 19 2007 Alison Craig

COMEDIAN MICHAEL MCINTYRE SHOULD BE SPONSORED BY A PANTY-PAD FIRM..DYNAMITE WET HER KNICKERS WATCHING HIM

MONDAY

Lazing about in the house when mag editor Liz calls to say a bloke called Lloyd, whose wife Elaine reads this column every week, has called inviting the long-suffering husband and myself to the Rangers match tomorrow night.

What a generous invitation but have to say no as I'm off to the Edinburgh Festival with my pal Jenny. She has been trapped in a shed working with her husband James for six weeks and needs a night out. So we meet at 6pm and head for the hills - well, actually a tapas bar in Edinburgh.

How I love deep-fried calamari. We sit for ages and stuff our faces, swigging wine before sloping up to The Pleasance to see comedian Michael McIntyre. I saw him last year and got so excited in the bar afterwards I approached him and asked if I could be his agent - at which point one of the most powerful comedy promoters in the world comes up and says: "He's mine!" This of course was just as well 'cause I would have no more idea what to do with a genius comedian than fly in the air.

I could perhaps suggest a sponsorship deal with a panty-pad manufacturer as my friend Dynamite claims she wet her pants watching his act the other day. By 10pm I too am looking up "pant-pad manufacturer" in the Yellow Pages - seriously, the guy is a genius. You can get a flavour of the madman on this week's podcast.

TUESDAY

A good laugh or a good drink are the perfect antidote to life in wet August - the combination of both is a joy! Feel great today and get up and rush off to meet my mum who is coming up from North Berwick for the day. She is escaping my dad and two of his pals who have descended on them for a couple of days of golf and bad behaviour.

Dad was in seeing the doctor the other day. It was one he hadn't met before. As the doctor read his notes he said: "Mr Craig, it seems there's a misprint here - it says you were born in 1928. Surely that's 48?" The guy genuinely thought dad was hitting 60, not 80. So he is now behaving like a 12-year-old, minus the hormonal huffing, rampaging round East Lothian with a large, teenage smile on his chops.

WEDNESDAY

Up in Sheildaig Lodge for a couple of nights near Badachro, Ross-shire, and at one point it is too wet to leave the hotel. They have this amazing digital piano that looks exactly like a real piano so having run out of things to do I pick up some of the music books kicking around and start to play. I get on to a big book of Beethoven.

As I play I sense a presence to my left. It is an American guest who says in a southern drawl straight out of 80s TV show Dallas: "You sure do play the piano good. I sure do love Beethoven. I always carry some with me."

He then rolls up his sleeve and reveals a tattoo the length of his arm. "This is his 9th symphony," he says.

Hard to know what to say to that. Rather than say: "Hey, lay your arm down right here and I'll play it," I just smile weakly, think: "Weirdo out of Children Of The Corn," and make up a lame excuse as I run away fast. Nowt so queer as folk.

THURSDAY

Further north - climb every mountain, forge every stream. A stupendous day visiting our friends Shaun and Joanna as we picnic by the River Carron. Sun beating down, our Louis joins their kids Findlay, Poppy and Ally in the water with body surfboards while the other two paddle in a fast deflating dinghy.

They only have one paddle and it is hilarious to watch Joanna, wet-suited up and diving in and out of the rapids, guiding the young ones. We jump into the truck and meet them at the other end. It takes them an hour and I am sure they will remember it for ever - a perfect Scottish summer day rounded off by a magnificent roast beef meal from Shaun's cows. Heaven.

FRIDAY

Drive back overnight to Edinburgh. Last day of our second summer school today and the kids put on a show. They have had a ball. The performances are uplifting and I have a tear in my eye as the wee quiet ones' confidence soars and they all sing, dance and jump about.

Jill from Forth 1's breakfast show and Monkey from the mid-evening show hand out the certificates. Dynamite and I take them to the Old Chain Pier for a pint to thank them before hitting the town.

SATURDAY

Ended up at pal Fiona's last night after the pub playing the guitar and singing loudly and badly. I arrived stylishly with a fish supper under my arm. I put it down to get a glass of wine and by the time I came back the swines had eaten the lot. I got them back by playing a George Formby medley on the guitar before I left. They may never speak to me again.

ALISON CRAIG

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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 Writer: Avril Cadden a.cadden@sundaymail.co.uk Picture research: Su Holliday

AS I PLAY PIANO IN THE HOTEL AN AMERICAN GUEST TELLS ME: 'I SURE LOVE BEETHOVEN.. THEN REVEALS A TATTOO OF HIS 9TH SYMPHONY THE LENGTH OF HIS ARM