Best of Peter Rhodes - October 8

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

THE Apprentice (BBC 1) is a reminder that, though our schools may crumble and our economy may nose-dive, Britain still produces some truly awesome egos.

INCIDENTALLY, why did all these would-be captains of industry meekly accept Alan Sugar's order that each team of eight must all work through the night making sausages? A team of four could have produced all the sausages, with half the bickering, while the others got a good night's sleep and were fresh for the next task.

AFTER monitoring more than 170 transplant patients, researchers in Italy claim that those who were actively "seeking God" had a better survival rate than those with no religious beliefs. The result has been hailed as good news for the faithful. Curious, isn't it, how those who believe most fervently in Paradise are seldom in a hurry to get there?

DID David Cameron study much history before wrapping himself in the mantle of Lord Kitchener with the slogan: "Your Country Needs You"? Kitchener rallied the nation, only to perish when HMS Hampshire was sunk. (The conspiracy theory at the time was that his colleagues were quite happy to see him go down).

AMERICAN drones have killed a number of German citizens in north-west Pakistan. So where is the diplomatic fury from Berlin at the summary slaughter of some fine strapping Hans in lederhosen or some cute little Heidi with flaxen pigtails? We all know precisely why there is no such anger. It is because these German citizens are Muslims who happen to have grown up in Germany but who have embraced the madness of Islamic extremism. Clearly, Germany does not regard them as proper Germans. Britain should take the same pragmatic view of our home-grown loonies who reject all our values and believe their God-given duty is to slaughter non-Muslims. You know the sort. The ones who, when their own stupidity gets them into trouble, suddenly remember they have a British passport.

THERE was a time (far away and long ago, you understand) when I worked under a complete idiot. He was quite the dimmest dimwit I have ever known and some days, after eight hours enduring his brand of grinding stupidity, I went home in utter despair. And then I discovered St John's wort. Usually billed as nature's own anti-depressant, it had a curious effect. I didn't feel happy-sparky-bouncy. I simply felt relaxed and vaguely amused. The idiot no longer raised my anxiety level and I simply didn't give a hoot. It was a wonderful transition. Sadly, for all its mellow sensations, St John's wort seemed to increase my blood pressure and I stopped taking it, but by then the idiot had gone. I tell this story because a report by international scientists in the current Nutrition Journal concludes that St John's wort is "not effective" in treating anxiety. I beg to differ and I bet I'm not alone.

TONY Blair implores us: "Read the speech of Iran's president to the United Nations just a few days ago and tell me that is someone you want with a nuclear bomb." And how many wars has he started, Tone?

I HEAR that the Presidential seal fell off Barack Obama's lectern at the White House. Never work with animals.

THE death of a clown reminds us of that marvellous day in the European Parliament when all the Brits burst out laughing and our French cousins hadn't a clue what was going on. It happened during a debate on the future of apple orchards in Normandy. The words of one French MEP, who had great faith in the locals, were translated thus: "I believe the problem will be solved by Norman wisdom."

SIMON Schama has been appointed "history tsar" with a brief to get our island story back on to the National Curriculum. He might be useful in elocution classes, too. Can anyone pronounce Tsar Schama?

THE trouble with official guidelines on health is that people only hear what they want to hear. Research by University College London suggests that pregnant women can safely have one or two drinks per week. Inevitably, this will be interpreted by slappers everywhere as an excuse to sling it down their necks all the way to the delivery room. Scientists spend a lot of time trying to explain criminal behaviour in terms of diet, environment and genes. Maybe the most likely cause is that some poor kids spend the first nine months of their development sloshing around in a wombful of gin.

GREAT excitement in the media this week about the arrival of purple potatoes from Scotland. Purple Majesty, being grown in Perthshire, is claimed to have all sorts of health benefits. The big question is whether Brits will accept purple spuds on their plates. But why not? We already eat kohlrabi which is not only purple but comes with tentacles and antenna-thingies and, if you ask me, is not of this planet.

A READER fresh back from the crematorium reports the coffin sliding from view to the strains of Frank Sinatra's hit, Come Fly with Me. Nice touch.

A READER sends me a selection of quips which, for reasons far too long to explain here, are known as Swifties. A swifty is a sentence in which the word describing how someone says something is also a pun. Such as:

* "I've left the phone off the hook," said Tom, engagingly

* "I'm wearing my wedding ring", said Jill with abandon.

* "Hurry up and get to the back of the ship," Tom said, sternly.

*"The Battle of the Nile was a lot of fun," said Lord Nelson, disarmingly.

My favourite swifty?

"I'm having an affair with my gamekeeper," said the Lady, chattilly.