Peter Rhodes: It's all your fault, girls

AFTER weeks of on-screen prompting, I have just upgraded from Windows 7 to Windows 10. It took four hours, the new system seems painfully slow and it keeps offering me all sorts of things I don't want. Progress, indeed.

SO farewell, old boots. Women are advised to skip this item because they never really understand the bond between a bloke and his footwear. For a woman, shoes are a moment's madness, the bringers of ecstasy which never quite deliver. For a man, a good pair of shoes is a lifetime contract. Mine are 20 years old and have made the transition from smart office wear to hiking boots. But now they are falling apart and it is time, after thousands of miles, many coasts and several mountains, to drop them quickly in the wheelie bin and never look lack. They are no longer acceptable in any circles. They do not even meet the minimum criterion of being "all right for the beach." Dammit. I hate buying new things; it is an admission of defeat.

AFTER the mass sex attacks in Cologne by young men said to be of Arabic and North African appearance, the city's mayor hardly endeared herself to anyone. Asked how women could protect themselves, Henriette Reker ventured: "There's always the possibility of keeping a certain distance of more than an arm's length – that is to say to make sure yourself you don't look to be too close to people who are not known to you, and to whom you don't have a trusting relationship". In other words, girls, it's your own fault. What a nasty piece of blame-shifting.

AND yet the mayor's suggestion pales against the anti-woman rantings of some internet trolls. This one, to the Marie Claire website and allegedly from someone at the University of Northampton, is shocking. Referring to the women gathered in German cities to celebrate New Year's Eve, he declares: "I bet none of the women were dressed in a respectful way, given the large number of Muslims around. I can guarantee you that if a little more respect was given by Western women towards Muslim men when making clothing decisions, rapes like these would not occur."

THANKS for your emails admitting that you, like me, had never heard of the late Lemmy of Motorhead. It is a reminder that we live in an age where people select their own little tribes, either personally or online, who tend to share their own interests. So it is perfectly possible to move in a circle of friends who know everything about Lemmy of Motorhead but have no idea who Moltke the Younger was. They shake their heads in disbelief at my shameful ignorance and I shake my head at theirs.

THERE was a footnote to Friday's tale about my Cold War trek to Leningrad. When I returned I wrote a mildly critical account of life in the Russian city. A self-important member of some British-Soviet friendship group demanded the right of reply. He tried to re-educate me on the scientific, technological and cultural glories of the Soviet Union. He described a workers' paradise where happy citizens apparently spent a lot of time proudly assembling tractors and building dams, and folk-dancing for pure joy. Useful idiots like him were heartbroken when the Berlin Wall came down and the proletariat headed West, not East.

PS: I have just recovered my boots from the wheelie bin. They will be all right for the beach.