Peter Rhodes' daily column

Express & Star columnist Peter Rhodes daily column for Monday, September 20.

HAVE been in France for a few days. I understand some old chap from Italy was visiting Britain while I was away. I'm sure I didn't miss anything important.

I WAS on the Somme, re-tracing the final footsteps of my grandfather's brother, Private Alvin Smith. He died 94 years ago this month, aged 20, in a particularly pointless little attack. It was sobering to follow Alvin's footsteps on his last march to the spot on the old trench map where this handsome, much-loved farm boy became nothing more than a memory. The Somme, a horror almost erased from our national memory until the 1960s, seems to become more potent with every passing year. The two main hotels in Albert were fully booked. The town's restaurants were thronged with parties of British and Canadians. July 1, 2016 will be the 100th anniversary of the first day of the Battle of the Somme when 20,000 British soldiers died and 40,000 more were wounded. Millions of us have a stake in those few square miles of Picardy and I confidently predict the Centenary of the Somme will be one of the biggest national commemorations ever.

BUT it's hard to stay maudlin for long in sunny Picardy, especially when you are in good company in a fine café and are suddenly presented with a classic menu of the we-speaka-da-Eenglish variety. If you were a British restaurateur having your menu translated into French, you would obviously ask some kindly Frog to run an eye over the draft and spot the howlers before sending it to the printers. Not the French. Convinced that they have mastered Anglais as she is spoken, they proudly offer an intriguing selection of dishes. This lot came from one restaurant in Albert and, I promise, not a word is changed:

* Green salad with gizzards

* Steack chopped on horseback

* Slice of meat pork sauce mustard

* Sticed ham

* Bib in the shallot

*Tab in the shallot

After much consideration I ordered the Cote de boeuf grille, thoughtfully translated into English as "Grilled quotation of ox (beef)," followed by the Patisserie du jour or "Day cake store."

THE moment you enter France, all is laid bare. From the autoroutes, you see towns, factories power stations and huge whirling wind turbines. But what do the French see coming the other way as they emerge from the Tunnel and head up the M20? They see nothing. The motorway is bordered by thick woodland. Beyond are glimpses

of more trees, woods, forests. Only a few houses can be seen. It must be a little disturbing. Where are these 60 million Anglais we hear so much about? Hiding in the woods?

HOW journalism works. On September 12 in the SundayTimes the feminist Camille Paglia wrote a column telling us that Lady Gaga is "a confected copycat" influenced by Madonna, David Bowie, Isabella Blow and Andy Warhol. Six days later in the Daily Mail, Liz Jones wrote a column telling us that Lady Gaga is "a shameless plagiarist" influenced by Madonna, David Bowie, Isabella Blow and Andy Warhol. I really must get around to writing a piece about Lady Gaga.

SPOT the irony, too, in The Road to Coronation Street, an excellent drama about the struggle creator Tony Warren had to persuade Granada to take on what would become the most successful soap ever. ITV failed to see the potential of Coronation Street and, 50 years on, bizarrely left it to the BBC to produce the play about the show. And even Auntie Beeb didn't seem to have much faith in The Road to Coronation Street, relegating it to the wasteland of BBC4. Plus ca change, as they say in Weatherfield.