Rebels in blazers

MY local bargain-basement shop is asking a mere 99p for its new range of magnetic car tax-disc holders. Good luck with that.

BRITAIN is not exactly Tornado Alley, is it? We may get a few gales per year but the Met Office's plan to give them all names, as in the United States, seems wildly over the top. The pilot scheme this winter will have alternating male and female names, running from A to Z . The theory is that giving a storm a name increases public awareness. Really? Or is the truth that we just like copying whatever the Yanks do? Here's an all-British alternative which avoids any confusion and spares us the effort of selecting suitable names. We will have Storm One, Storm Two, Storm Three, and so on. Simples, innit?

THE Queen has become our longest serving monarch with the inevitable flurry this week of retrospective features on TV and in the papers. Funny, the things you forget. Like the horror on the day in 1969 that Prince Charles was created Prince of Wales, when three men died in bombs planted by Welsh nationalists. The largely-forgotten armed struggle in Wales kicked off at about the same time as the Troubles in Ulster but fizzled out. Why? A very highly placed source once told me that a decision was taken in Whitehall in the 1960s to give the Welsh whatever they asked for. Welsh radio, Welsh TV, a Welsh parliament and compulsory Welsh lesson in schools were duly approved. Behind this policy was the determination that Britain would not embark on guerilla campaigns at the same time in Ulster and Wales. Fighting wars on two fronts is best avoided, whatever the cost.

NEWSPAPERS love the start of the new school year for it brings a reliable, never-ending crop of picture-stories featuring sullen kids defying uniform or hairstyle rules and parents mouthing off about their little darlings' human rights.

IN my school it was the Broughton Brothers who were the awkward squad. They would turn up in September with hair one-inch longer than the approved short back and sides and, after some time spent standing in the playground looking well 'ard,would be ordered off the premises. We little'uns in short trousers were shocked and awed at the wickedness and defiance of the Broughtons. And then they formed a band and became quite famous and we just rocked along all night, so proud to know them. Say what you like about the old grammar schools but ours produced Frank Whittle, father of the jet engine, and The Edgar Broughton Blues Band, rebels of the Sixties, so it couldn't be all bad.

IT was lunch break in the school music room. The Broughtons were ripping raucous riffs out of their electric guitars. I joined in on my cello. My claim to fame is that I once played with the Edgar Broughton Band. I never talk about it.

WASPS steal your plums, finches steal your cherries and blackbirds steal your raspberries. But nothing seems to bother with damsons. Our old damson tree is groaning under the weight of ripe fruit. But you can't help thinking if the rest of creation ignores damsons, there must be something wrong with them.

AFTER my defence of the monarchy this week, a number of you have pointed out that if we had a republican system we might well be ruled over by President Blair and First Lady Cherie. If that happened, there wouldn't be all this agonising about when the Chilcot Report would be published. Never.