Peter Rhodes: Kiss the air

WALKING down the street into an oncoming stream of shoppers (including me), a man wearing earphones was holding his laptop in front of him at eye-level and conducting a Skype conversation with somebody, at full volume.

THE above incident proved that communal wishing does not work. Everyone in that street was thinking: "Go on, you idiot, walk into a lamppost," but the Skype merchant missed them all.

TV dramas are filmed months before they are screened. So the makers of Halcyon (ITV) must have watched in horror a few weeks ago as Close to the Enemy (BBC1) was broadcast. Note the startling similarities between the two offerings. Same setting, in a 1940s hotel. Same atmosphere of conspiracy about the reasons for the Second World War. Same jazz band with sexy chanteuse. And to cap it all, both dramas had the actress Charity Wakefield playing a blonde femme fatale. Both series were about spies. So who's been spying on whom . . ?

IF I was a tad churlish about Victoria Beckham's OBE a couple of days ago, it is probably because I was once involved in the Honours process and saw its failings. Some years ago a genuine local hero was put forward for an honour. I received the nomination papers and added my endorsement to several pages of accolades from those who knew him and recognised his commitment and self-sacrifice. He had changed the lives of many people. He was an unsung hero, beavering in the dark at his own expense. He was exactly the sort of person who deserved a pat on the back from the Palace. And so he was nominated. But he was never selected for any honour. He has since died, taking my faith in the system with him.

IN these co-called post-truth times, how are we supposed to tell the difference between fake news, as spread by dark forces on the internet, and complete cobblers, as spread in newspapers at the sillier end of Fleet Street? Complete cobblers is at its finest with extreme weather forecasting which, by definition, refers to events in the future. By the time the threatened heatwave, monsoon, blizzard or drought has failed to materialise, the newspapers will have been recycled. All evidence of the forecast will be removed from the website and dim readers will think they imagined it. But this time someone blundered and a forecast published on December 19 was still available online this week. This is what it says to expect for Christmas: "Violent 70mph SNOWBOMB storm to smash UK in 3-day Xmas lockdown. Blistering 70mph gales from the Atlantic will bring several feet of snow . . . weather boffins claim temperatures could plummet to a bone-chilling -20C." As you may recall, Christmas was unusually mild.

THIS week the same newspaper unblushingly gave us the headline: "Big Freeze to Last a Month." Break out the T-shirts.

YES, there is a lot of it about. Sniffles, cough, headache and, just when you think you've shaken it off, it comes back again. I couldn't help noticing at a party this week how some of the cheeks one kissed were burning hot. As this winter's dreaded lurgy continues, I foresee a return of Hollywood-style contactless air-kissing. Mwah, mwah, darling.