Peter Rhodes on dogs in hotels, moisturisers for men and why an aircraft carrier isn't sailing
Big warships do not operate alone. They need support vessels to keep them fuelled and armed for the fray.


According to reports at the weekend, the Royal Navy's massive new aircraft carrier HMS Queen Elizabeth is unable to sail to the Red Sea because its support ship, Fort Victoria, is in a shipyard in Liverpool with only a skeleton crew.
This not only conjures an image of the Jolly Roger flag but also tells a sorry story of the recruiting crisis weakening all the armed forces. We want an army, navy and air force to be proud of – but the kids aren't interested.
They call it the “hound pound” and hotels everywhere want a slice of it. According to the latest research, with 12 million dogs in Britain, hoteliers can increase their takings by almost a third by becoming dog friendly. But at what cost to non dog-owning guests? A Daily Telegraph reader reports bitterly on dogs eating off plates in the bar and “the hygiene issues, the noise and smell”.
I concur, having been in a bar recently where one of the regulars' pooches wandered in and out of the kitchen like an old friend. It does not exactly enrich the culinary experience.
And while going dog friendly may increase the number of pooch-owning punters, it could put off millions of others. In some teachings of Islam and orthodox Judaism, dogs are regarded as unclean. That's four million potential customers in Britain who might see a “dog friendly” sign and take their custom elsewhere.
Out into the raw, biting and much-delayed winter with just a dab of Xmas-present moisturiser for protection. I cannot use the stuff without being reminded of a feisty women's editor from Lancashire many years ago who was sent some samples of male skin-care treatments and implored me (this was in the uber-macho 1970s) to road-test them for our readers.
She stressed that there was nothing in the least unmanly or girly about male cosmetics; apparently many butch film stars used them. But when I turned up the next day wearing the stuff, she laughed unkindly and called me a great wet nelly. Funny, the memories that stick.
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