Peter Rhodes: Blowin' in the wind – your secrets

THANKS for your letters and emails on the old and new state pensions. If you'd like to share your pension forecasts as you get them, let me know. It may add greatly to the general jollity of our nation. Or possibly not.

WRITER Jane Shilling laments the rise of IKEA-type minimalism and the demise of brown furniture like her sturdy old wardrobe with labels for "costumes" and "blouses." I was suddenly reminded of the brown wardrobe my parents bought when I was about six. The labelled compartments included one marked "sundries." For more years than I feel comfortable to admit, I assumed these were clothes that could be dried in the sun.

OUR old tabby stuck his head out of the door, sniffed the air and did the closest a cat can get to an expression of disdain. There was something out there, something grubby and smelly, something that does not lick its paws and wash its face on a regular basis. The cat was right. In the field next to us, for the first time in years, we have sheep. For the first day the sheep formed a flock, wary of their new surroundings. By day two they were all over the meadow in confident groups of twos and threes. There is something good about a field full of ewes, something biblically comforting about living where sheep may safely graze.

NOW, what's this? Why, it is an email from a French woman to an English couple, confirming their house-exchange holiday. And this is the Englishman's reply, in clumsy O-level French, zut alors. He gives the dates when he will be away on business (useful information for any burglar). The next bit of paper is her reply, with a map showing her property, which will also be empty for a few days (more good news for burglars). These email chats, printed on A4 sheets, were put in a wheelie bin, entrusted to the binmen and chucked on the bin lorry, from whence they were blown to the four winds and scattered all over our lane. A fascinating peek into someone else's business - and a reminder always to burn or shred your personal papers.

PS: If you think you recognise yourself from the above item, fear not. All the documents went straight on our fire.

TERRY Wogan, the most famous Irishman in Britain, was broadcasting throughout the 30 years of the so-called Troubles when bombs and bullets claimed 3,000 lives. When things got really nasty, notably after the 1974 Birmingham Pub Bombings, his gentle Irish accent was a precious daily reminder of the inseparable ties and the great affection between two close and tolerant nations. Wogan never mentioned the Troubles on air but when it was all over, he joked about receiving "the odd death threat" and explained: "Things being done in the name of Irish freedom were not being done by me or anyone I knew." His words, echoed by millions of Irish, are a reminder that the Troubles were never a popular mass movement but were led and engineered by a few hundred fanatics who ruined tens of thousands of lives.

INEVITABLY, we are knee-deep this week in Wogan's one-liners, I love this one, on the subject of his wife: "She never throws anything out, which may explain the longevity of our marriage."