Peter Rhodes: Scurvy politicians

A READER emails: "Loved your article on Internet buying. I have sold a couple of homing pigeons on eBay. So far I have made £160."

THERE are not many laughs in King Lear. The king's descent into madness is shocking and the moment when Gloucester's eyes are gouged out is not for the squeamish. And yet there is one line which caused a ripple of mirth from the audience at Stratford on press night when Lear (Antony Sher) told Gloucester (David Troughton): "Get thee glass eyes, and like a scurvy politician seem to see the things thou dost not." We've known all about scurvy politicians for at least 400 years, so why do we still put up with them?

IN a light moment the Guardian invited readers to submit their doodles, from which a handwriting analyst calculated whether they were optimists, introverts, team players and so on. My recurring doodle is a palm tree on an island. You could argue that this makes me a loner, a dreamer or a great fan of coconuts. The dull truth is that palm trees are the only things I can draw.

INCIDENTALLY, the above item should not be taken as an endorsement of "handwriting analysis" or graphology, a "science" which tends to attract words such as hokum, bunkum and quackery. When it comes to determining somebody's character, the British Psychological Society has given graphology the same ranking as astrology - "zero validity."

HOKUM, Bunkum and Quackery. What a great name for a firm of solicitors.

I WAS sent a bread board by the kitchen-worktop company I dealt with during the restoration of the magnificent barrel-vaulted, oak beamed and marble floored Tudor kitchen at Chateau Rhodes. But even though it's a free gift, it has to be delivered by a courier, monitored all the way by satellite surveillance. The online message told me: "Jaswinder is currently making delivery number 2, you are delivery number 58. Jaswinder is approximately 4 hours 45 minutes away from you. You can watch Jaswinder's progress on our map." I bet there are high-security prisons with less surveillance than this. Poor Jaswinder.

HERE we go again. Every few months the emergency services release details of 999 messages of members of the public demanding police, fire brigade or ambulance for the most trivial and time-wasting reasons. And how we chortle at the lady whose tortoise has escaped, the man who ran out of toilet paper or, in the latest batch, the woman in Stratford-upon-Avon asking for a lift home because "I've been on my feet all day." Some of these may be reckless time-wasters. But if we believe the experts, about a quarter of Brits suffer psychiatric disorders at some stage in their life. Of the millions of 999 calls made every year, how many are from those unfortunates? Laugh if you must but you may well be laughing at the mentally ill.

I AM wary of commenting on cyclists because they tend to burst into tears and report me to the press-complaints people. But I cannot be alone in noticing a resurgence of anti-social pedalling in the wake of the Olympic cycling success. I followed a posse of day-glo idiots on racing bikes who were cheerfully riding in the road rather than on the cycle path provided. Why?