Best of Peter Rhodes - March 19

The best of this week's Peter Rhodes column from the Express & Star.

I HAVE just bought one of those amazing memory-foam mattresses. Do you think they remember everything?

INTERESTINGLY, the best fly-fishing lines which cast straight and true off the reel are known as "memory-free" lines. I'm sure I put mine down somewhere . . . .

I SUPPOSE one day the thrill of the internet will fade but I still get a huge buzz when something like this drops into my basket. It's an email from Roger Chamberlain of Fordhouses, Wolverhampton, Master of the Royal Research Ship James Cook, whom I interviewed last year. While we desk-slugs are toiling at our screens, Roger is currently sailing up the South Atlantic towards the West Indies. He writes: "Making our way past the Amazon estuary - it is affecting local weather quite a lot - stiff 25 knot winds and grey skies." Wow.

WHICH reminds me of the explorer deep in the Amazon rain forest who found a tribe who used the leaves of a special fern to deal with constipation. "Believe me," the medicine man told him, "with fronds like these, you don't need enemas."

FORTUNATE, isn't it, that the Chilcot Inquiry does not take evidence on oath? Imagine if Gordon Brown had made his repeated claim about increasing the defence budget on oath. Today, he would stand accused of perjury. As it is, witnesses are required to sign a statement that their evidence to Chilcot is "truthful, fair and accurate". If this doesn't come back to haunt the Prime Minister, nothing will.

BY their mumbling shall ye know them. A young man phoned Radio 4 to tell the world why he was happy taking the drug mephodrone 'cos it never dun him no harm, innit? His argument was that buying it over the internet was safer than in the street. But he couldn't explain why. Nor could he explain why he thought it was all right for adults to use it, but not kids. In short, drugs have done him no harm, apart from robbing him of most of his thought processes and turning his brains into scrambled egg.

I CANNOT think of Birmingham's bid to become UK City of Culture without being reminded of that glorious episode of Rab C Nesbitt when Glasgow was made the EU Capital of Culture. A visiting French dignitary stepped from his limo to be greeted by a posse of sinister Glaswegian politicians looking like Mafiosi in sunglasses.

"Iz zis ze Capital of Culture?" asked the Frenchman, warily.

"Ye bet yer sweet arse it is," replied his host.

THE good news from Brum is that it's competing for the UK City of Culture title against Norwich which is tiny, Sheffield which is still tainted by The Full Monty and Derry which is only in the UK because its resident terrorists never defeated the British Army.

STILL no developments on the mysterious Twitter-hacking scandal. On February 17 the Telford MP David Wright assured us he would be seeking a meeting with ministers and demanding an explanation from Twitter after the words "scum-sucking" mysteriously appeared in one of his anti-Tory rants. The MP said he never wrote these words. This week I twice emailed Mr Wright to discover what has happened. I'm still waiting for an answer. Gosh, do you think my emails have been tinkered with?

"IT'S only the best that is good enough for our health service." Gordon Brown speaking at the weekend. So how come David Beckham was flown to a hospital in Finland?

THERE is a scene in The Hurt Locker, the Oscar-winning war film set in Iraq, which captures the extreme reluctance of some soldiers to kill, even when their own lives are at risk. It is a scene that a 90-year-old reader admits has moved him to tears. Nearly 70 years ago, he and his pal lost their bearings in a desert battle in North Africa and stumbled upon a German machine-gun position. No-one could have blamed the Germans for killing two fully-armed enemy soldiers. Instead, they held their fire, took the Tommies prisoner and gave them more than they themselves could expect. Another 70 years of life.

SO LET'S get this right. A couple of members of the House of Lords stand accused of claiming allowances for travel to and from their main homes outside London when they were actually living in London all the time. They cannot be prosecuted because the Lords have recently changed the rules so that virtually any property can be designated as the main residence. To gladden our hearts still further, the memo justifying this strange decision is now covered by a gagging order. Welcome to Britain, the only banana republic with cold winters.

THE more I see of the proposed high-speed train, the more I am reminded of Concorde, that other great money-losing exercise in national prestige and needless speed. Britain and France built Concorde but the Yanks took one look and decided to stick with big, fat , slow, cheap Jumbo jets. Concorde was a rich man's plaything and a financial disaster. Boeing 747 Jumbo jets brought cheap, reliable air travel to millions. What Britain really needs is big, fat trains with plenty of affordable seats. What we need is the rail equivalent of the 747. What we are getting is Concorde on wheels.

AND another thing. A reader points out that we have to stand yards away from the platform edge as a 100 mph train goes past, lest we are sucked to our doom. So as a high-speed train scorches through Birmingham at 250mph, how close can we safely stand? Solihull?

A NEW blood-thinning drug, to be licensed for use later this year, is being hailed as the biggest advance in controlling clots for 50 years. Not a moment too soon. The nation is awash with them.