Are politicians getting younger?

To discover that the Leader of Her Majesty's Most Loyal Opposition is just three-and-a-half weeks older than me is a sobering thought.

Politicians, in my head, and generally with a few exceptions, are boring, old, white, middle class men in grey suits. I may have to re-think this, because the alternative - that I'm boring, old ... da da da - is clearly unthinkable.

"Why would you want an electric book?"

My percipient nephew's pretty damn cool comment about Steve's new Sony Reader.

Vote for me!!!

Sorry, didn't mean to sound so needy ...

It's just that I've got a couple of designs entered at teetonic, and if you thought they had any merit, you could vote for them I suppose ...

(Note to self ... must stop doing all these ellipses ... shows lack of imagination ...)

Which designs? Oh, sorry, didn't I mention? One of them is a big yellow smilie with the legend under "smile", and the other is just the word "T-Shirt" in a kind of retro blue font. I'm sure you can find them.

Thanks!

Holidays ruined

Sometimes one finds that 'counting one's lucky stars' is the only bright spot in a dull world.

This time last year (or thereabouts) we were coming back from Paris on the Eurostar (although delayed on our return for several hours due to a power cut at the Gard du Nord). If we were there now, we'd be stranded.

And this time six years ago we were in Madeira, having flown there with XL Airways. And again, if it was today, we'd be stranded. The particularly worrying aspect of this particular collapse is that, apparently, if you didn't book a package with a travel agent, but booked elements separately on the company's website - which we did - you almost certainly wouldn't receive any compensation from the bond which is supposed to guarantee customers' money. And with online payments by credit card attracting a surcharge, the temptation is to use a debit car (I can't recall but being a stingy so-and-so I imagine I would have gone for the cheaper option myself) you aren't even covered by the credit card company's guarantees.

Bad times for some this week.

Duran Duran

I want to know how Jon's meeting with Andy Taylor went, don't you? I imagine the answer's on his Facebook, but their site seems to be down at the moment...

Two National Treasures

Firstly, the impeccably-vowelled Mr Brian Sewell, on Sky Arts HD, taking us on one leg of a pilgrimage through Spain, heading for Santiago. I could listen to him for several hours with a huge grin on my face.

Then, a little later, Ms Joanna Lumley, on BBC HD, travelling on the adventure of a lifetime to realise her dream, held since childhood, of seeing the Northern Lights. By train and sled and ski-mobile well into the Norwegian Arctic, she had me transfixed for an hour. I was there with her, as she met locals and found out about this wilderness region of extremes, and the elusive phenomenon she sought so eagerly and, eventually, delightfully, witnessed.

It's what good TV is all about.

It's not just normal paranoia

Have you ever felt like people were looking at you? I don't mean because you've got egg down your tie, I mean more the way people stare at someone famous they've unexpectedly just clocked. It's just been happening to me in Waitrose. So either I'm the spit of some paedo who's all over the Sunday papers, or maybe a pop star? I prefer to imagine the latter, natch. Still, rather disconcerting. Unlike a 'celeb', I doubt if Hello will be interested in shelling out a hundred grand for my exclusive story and picture feature, though, sadly.

Apple pie and ...

Occasionally a car number plate occurs to me which theoretically could exist somewhere. Today I imagined CU57ARD.

A couple of thoughts on English and French things

First a little rant ("What?" I hear you cry, "that's just so unlike you Hamish"); then an "Ah-ha, told you so" moment.

So, to begin with, apparently, 'they' are going to ban a couple of fine British traditions. Can it really be true that dustcarts can no longer display rescued cuddly toys on the radiator grille? And what's this about ice cream vans?

My beloved brother has been heard to suggest that he would like to move to India, or Goa, or somewhere, to live out his retirement in peace from the infernal regulators, 'health & safety' vigilantes and sundry other do-gooders with which our country is increasingly afflicted. For goodness' sake don't mention these latest ridiculous ideas to him, or he'll book the bloody ticket, and that'll be the last we ever see of him. Seriously.

Incidentally, despite exhaustive searching on t'internet, I can't find any references to the dustcart story, so maybe it's just an urban myth (allegedly the ban would be because children could be run over trying to prise a teddy bear off the front of the vehicle) but of course if you know better, let me know.

Once upon a long ago I lived in Paris, and naturally as a family we bought, daily, what I now refer to awkwardly as "French sticks", but which then I just knew as baguettes. There were, essentially, two styles: the baton, which was very long and thin, and another which I have been certain for as long as I can recall, was referred to as a batard. But since returning from France at the age of seven or so, any grown-up I have mentioned this to has insisted, shocked, that batard is a very rude word and could not possibly have been a loaf of bread. (Bâtard is indeed French for bastard.)

So, gentle reader, imagine my delight when I examined closely a photograph in the July edition of Waitrose Food Illustrated, the upmarket supermarket's monthly glossy magazine. Accompanying an unashamedly evocative article entitled C'est la vie is a picture of the price board (prix de vente du pain) presumably outside a boulangerie, clearly showing listed a Pain "Batard" de 300 grammes at FF3,80, along with other products including Baguettes de 300 grammes at FF4,00.

So there. Do you think Waitrose will mind if I scan the pic and post it here? I might do...

I have just looked up batard in the Collins-Robert French-English dictionary I have had since the sixth form, and it suggests, as well as the common, vulgar, meaning, that it also has the bread-based translation of "Vienna roll", whatever one of those is. Hmmm...

What a plonker

Have you ever popped a bottle of room-temperature beer into the freezer 'just for a few minutes' to chill, but then forgotten about it? I did the other day...