As I write this, I’m wearing an old dressing gown and woolly socks. I’m not going to subject you to an 0870 chatline-type description of my nightwear, but I mention it because it’s more comfortable than dressing up in my best ballgown for work, and since it’s not putting you off your cornflakes, what’s the problem?

Maybe I’m a slob, but I extend the same sartorial indulgence to taxi drivers. I couldn’t care less what a hired driver wears — he could turn up in Speedos if he wants, so long as he gets me to my destination as quickly as possible, without asking anyone the way and without giving me his opinion on the perils of immigration. Unfortunately for cabbies in Edinburgh, Speedos, jeans, T-shirts, trainers, baseball caps and just about anything with an elasticated waist are out, as councillors are enforcing a dress code that has been widely ignored in recent years.

Now the poor souls have to sit there stewing in smart trousers or skirts, proper shoes and shirts or blouses with collars, because they’re often the first aspect of Edinburgh’s splendour that tourists encounter when visiting the capital.

Surely, it’s usually the back of a cabbie’s head that leaves the most lasting impression on a customer and, as far as I’m concerned, so long as that’s clean, they can wear anything except a blindfold.

Work wear should always be appropriate to the job and since cabbies need to be comfortable, what’s wrong with their time-honoured uniform of tracksuit bottoms and Genesis 1978 tour sweatshirt?

I know that the guy in the driving seat is the driver: he doesn’t need to prove it to me by wearing a uniform.

Some jobs definitely need conspicuous clothing, however. Geography teachers ought to display leather patches on the elbows of their tweed jackets to enable us to differentiate them from ordinary teachers, and shop assistants should be legally obliged to wear similar, and eye-catching, outfits to save the rest of us the misery of wandering about, tapping strangers on the shoulder and pleading: “Excuse me, do you work here?”

Get twinvolved

On holiday in France last week, I drove through a town called Creysse. It was twinned with a Spanish municipality, but I couldn’t help wondering, why isn’t it twinned with Eigg?

When I got home, I checked out Scotland’s twin-town and sister-city policy and, well, there isn’t one. Apart from a slightly scary desperation among Fife towns to twin with anywhere in Germany that will have them, we’re not bonding with the rest of the world in an imaginative or memorable way.

Bad town-twinning is basically about where the local councillors fancy going on holiday, but good town-twinning can be a cornerstone of great international relations, not to mention free wine or beer if you choose sensibly.

Many French towns have twinned with other French towns, perhaps to avoid the embarrassment of meeting other, less sophisticated nationalities. In Scotland, we get on with almost everybody, so if we use logic and a little creativity, we can surely find perfect partners across the globe. I already have some suggestions to foster worldwide bonhomie.

Certain place names need to be complementary. I’d twin Rhum with Coke (USA); Muck with Brass (Nigeria); and Eyemouth with Nose (Japan). Others should be opposites: Cold-stream with Hot Springs (USA) and Biggar with Smøla (Norway).

Then there are places meant to be together: Dollar with Money (USA); Arden-tinny with Metal (USA); Holyrood with Fiddlers Hamlet (England); and Cumbernauld with Hell (Norway, but maybe there’s somewhere hotter).

Party pooper

You might think that being charged with assault, then labouring under a 7pm-7am curfew until the trial, would be Charlene Campbell’s worst problem, but there’s more. One of her friends is getting married, so Charlene asked Perth Sheriff Court if she could have a break from the curfew to go on the hen night.

Incredibly, the sheriff said yes, on condition that she — and all her girlfriends — make it an entirely alcohol-free celebration.

Which brings us to Charlene’s main problem, because I’m not hugely optimistic about how popular she’s going to be with her mates when she tells them: “Great news! I can come on the hen night! There’s only one, little thing you need to know . . . ”

Officer's blub

Lothian and Borders Police have a problem, too. Some of their traffic officers are so heavy that having two burly cops in each patrol car is taking the vehicle to within 14 stone of its legal weight allowance. This means they can only carry one additional passenger, weighing under 14 stone.

So if you’re a 14 stone-plus criminal operating in the Lothian and Borders area and you see a police car with two chunky officers in it, feel free to carry on — there’s no need to worry, is there?

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