Peter Rhodes on learning maths, queuing for pans and a close look at the art of subtitling

The Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby has rightly resigned. But spare us, please, the suggestion that any normal, decent person, on learning of John Smyth's sadistic depravity, would have rushed to the police. In real life, time and again, normal, decent people, including teachers, social workers and neighbours, have suspected child abuse but done nothing to stop it. One of the most shameful human instincts, among bishops and citizens alike, is the desire not to get involved.

The last item of continental cast-iron kitchenware I bought was a big orange casserole in the street market at Arras, northern France - for one-third of the UK price.

Over here, such things are a luxury, which explains the huge queues at a Le Creuset sale in Hampshire this week. Le Creuset is not only a middle-class icon but, if you believe the BBC sitcom Outnumbered, it may also have given frazzled spouses a cast-iron lethal weapon. A policeman, describing a suburban wife attacking her husband, explains: “She hit him with a frying pan... they're all using Le Creuset around here so we're taking it seriously.”

Yesterday's comment by a reader on the subject of semi-numerate teenagers reminded me of a workplace (long ago and far away) where a school leaver joined the snack-trolley staff but was unable to do the simplest sums. So she was put under the tuition of a veteran trolley lady who explained the mysteries of adding-up. Within a few weeks that teenager had learned things on the shopfloor that she'd failed to grasp in 11 years at school. She could add up three sticky buns and a lardy cake before you could say coronary.