Peter Rhodes: They want to live in the Islamic State? Well, let them go

SO the Luton family of 12 "tricked" into entering Syria actually went willingly, which is what I suggested from the start. They claim they feel safe. Before long they will no doubt be Tweeting the usual Islamist nonsense about the West being filthy and corrupt, as they form an orderly queue to watch the evening's public beheadings.

MEANWHILE a Mail on Sunday reporter posed as a would-be jihadist and recorded a fascinating and depressing Twitter conversation with Amira Abase, a British "jihadi bride" in Syria. How, asked, the reporter, did she get an airline ticket to Turkey? Here's the response: "Go to travel agent. Just pay cash (up) front . . . Go to Asian one, they just want the money they never asked me nothing." I trust the cops are looking into this.

BUT what is the point of trying to keep such people in the UK if they really want to live in IS? Wouldn't it be easier, and safer, simply to let them go?

IF you put money in a bank or building society last week, they would have solemnly assured you that, if the worst happened, £85,000 of your savings would be protected. As the Greek crisis deepens, the Bank of England has quietly announced that from next January this guarantee is being cut to £75,000. I can't think of a better example of the banking industry at work: when it's dry they lend you an umbrella and when it rains, they ask for it back.

"IT'S gonna be a couple of days," explained the phone engineer, holding a fistful of charred and fused lengths of cable. In a perfect world BT would send the cable underground or invent some amazing wireless system for rural areas. Instead, Thor strikes his mighty hammer and we poor customers count the cost and revert to mid 20th century communications. My modem and router are internally fried, leaving me internet-less with a computer which is no more than an electric typewriter. After you with the postage stamps.

OUR changing language. I had breakfast in a cafe where a succession of people came in, all apparently determined to get stuff. "Can I get a coffee?" "Can I get a herbal tea?" "Can I get a chicken wrap?" If I were the owner I'd be tempted to say: "No, you sit where you are and I'll get it." Somehow, "Can I get?" has passed into our language quicker than you can say latte. Incidentally, it seems the correct answer to "Can I get?" is a bright: "No worries."