Peter Rhodes on fake stamps, a landmark in Ukraine and does anyone care about their privacy?
I have no idea whether, as some pundits suggest, the epidemic of fake postage stamps is the work of China. But I am reminded of a theory that World War III will begin not with a nuclear explosion but with people logging on to their bank accounts and discovering none of us has any money.
A fascinating online guide to unnecessary gadgets in modern cars focuses on such needless, talent-wasting gizmos as CCTV cameras replacing wing mirrors. It also mentions an innovation known as the Toy Box which offers a range of entertaining novelties, presumably to make the journey seem shorter. It features a whoopee cushion which generates a noisy blast of flatulence which can be directed beneath the car seat of your choice. I bet the M25 simply flies by.
Enjoy such fripperies while ye may. There's a chance that before long the great car factories of Europe and America will be working flat out to produce not electronic-fart machines but seriously-needed items such as tanks, artillery shells and drones.
Unless, of course, peace gets in the way. A few days ago, the Nato Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg said Ukraine may have to agree to some kind of compromise with Russia to end the conflict: "At the end of the day,” he said, “it has to be Ukraine that decides what kind of compromises they’re willing to do." For some reason, the media have barely reported this statement which may prove to be a turning point in Putin's war.
As Lord Blunkett makes the case for ID cards, you may well ask why he faced so much opposition to the scheme 20-odd years ago. I suspect it was because back then we believed people cherished their privacy. We had no idea how many would willingly, nay eagerly, hand over their most personal details to be bought, sold and blabbed to billions of strangers on something called the internet.
In my continuing, and frankly unrewarding, hunt for unlikely names for TV detectives (to date: Adverse Camber, Sticker Foxhole, Faecal Plume), I am most grateful to the foot-comfort department at my local NHS surgery. Could any gumshoe wish for a better name than Chiropody Felt?
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