Peter Rhodes: Pluck it, suck it, wallop it

AFTER my item on those small peaked caps which have been marketed over the years as Lenin, Lennon, fishermen's and Corbyn caps, a reader reminds me that the once hugely popular folk singer Donovan also wore one. There is a moral here: fame is fleeting but a good cap goes on and on.

USING different names to sell identical items, as with the Corbyn cap, is nothing new. Some years ago a clothing firm advertised its waxed-cotton jackets in the national newspapers. The jacket boasted a big internal pocket. In the conservative Daily Telegraph it was a "gamekeeper's pocket." In the radical Guardian it was a "poacher's pocket."

THERE has always been a whiff of racial superiority about television. We tend to assume that British TV drama is superior to anything American. And yet two prestigious and much-promoted British series, Capital (BBC1) and London Spy (BBC2), have crumbled from clever, promising beginnings into weak, disappointing endings. Meanwhile, the brash all-American import Fargo (C4) thunders on. It is the fabulously gripping tale of an ordinary mid-West couple (Kirsten Dunst and Jesse Plemons) who get mixed up with the Mob and discover untold depths of courage, resolve and sheer viciousness. The best TV series of the year?

WINTER is icumin-in, so it's off to the annual pre-Xmas entertainment, an evening of mediaeval music with ye authentic olde instruments. These events are a reminder of how our horny-handed ancestors were prepared to suck, blow, pluck, crank, squeeze or wallop almost anything in the hope of getting a tune out of it. Hollowed-out gourds, stretched skins, reeds, lumps of wood and pigs' bladders were all pressed into service. This concert featured a bagpipe which looked like a hockey stick inserted in a dead badger. I bet you'd get much the same noise using a live badger. The one disadvantage of England defeating the Spanish Armada in 1588 was that it delayed the arrival of guitars, and proper music, for several centuries.

FIRST, Labour's pro-bombing MPs complained about being bullied and intimidated by pacifist trolls (a strange concept, but true). Then the anti-bombing MPs complained about being bullied and intimidated by the party's deputy leader, Tom Watson. Pull yourself together, girls. If you choose to make a living in the public arena you must expect nasty stuff to be chucked your way. The other night, one zealot bombarded me with messages at 8.16pm, 8.23, 8.33, 9.13, 3.20am, 3.50 and 3.58. After a brief snooze he was banging on again at 10.21am. He sent more than 2,000 words in all which is equivalent to about eight Gettysburg Addresses, but without any of Abraham Lincoln's common sense. You don't see me complaining. All grist to the mill, as our mediaeval forbears used to say.

FROM time to time you hear of something that reinforces your pride in the illogical, anarchic, anti-authority, awkward-squad attitudes of your fellow humans. I wrote a few days ago about the sticker in car windows in Jersey showing that the vehicle is insured. A reader points out that although the sticker is square, everyone calls it the disc. Long may they do so.

WHICH of Britain's smartest magazines would you turn to for the most exclusive, upmarket and downright posh interviews. Tatler? Horse & Hound? The Lady, perhaps? Strange to report that one rather less snooty publication has an interview with the fragrant Lady Cora of Downton Abbey (Elizabeth McGovern), plus an exclusive chat with HRH Prince William for its December edition. Big Issue, mate?