Peter Rhodes: A giant among tiddlers

LOANS to kids by their parents – the so-called Bank of Mum and Dad – has become the ninth biggest mortgage lender in Britain. It also has the distinction of being the only mortgage lender that never seriously expects to get the money back.

A READER who was probably paying far more attention to the script of Line of Duty (BBC1) than the writers ever intended, did his own detective work when it was revealed that the incriminating bag of evidence was buried “on the Chase” near the junction of the A51 and the A38. He analysed the directions and found that the location was on the main road next to his house in Lichfield. Result.

LINE of Duty suffered from the same problem as Broadchurch (ITV). It was beautifully filmed and excellently acted but the plot was ludicrously complicated. At the conclusion of a truly great crime drama, you should relish the unmasking of the villain, admire the tying-up of loose ends and generally cherish the moment, without feeling the need to consult Google to find out what actually happened.

SO it's going to be hard ball. The long-expected opening shots are coming from the anonymous movers, shakers and spinners of Brussels. They are rearranging the goalposts to ensure there is no easy EU exit for Britain. Well, let them pull faces, stamp their feet and pluck ludicrous “departure fees” from thin air. Just remember that the greatest joy of leaving will be no longer having to pretend that countries with a population the size of Leicester are proper nations. Thirteen of the 27 EU states we are supposed to treat as equals have populations smaller than London and six of them are smaller than the West Midlands. Britain is like a very large and powerful salmon swimming with lots of tiddlers. The sooner we escape from this stagnant little pool and into the great oceans, the better.

DIANE Abbott's ordeal by mathematics, live on radio this week, is one excellent reason for avoiding a career in politics. We mere mortals cannot comprehend all the stuff that politicians are supposed to memorise and regurgitate at a moment's notice. You promise to appoint thousands of new coppers. The radio jock instantly demands to know how much it will cost. So that's what? Ten thousand multiplied by about £40,000? Your brain freezes. You blurt out £350,000. The jock starts the eye-rolling and guffawing, and within a minute the entire nation has joined in laughing at Abbott. Maybe the shadow home secretary should have been better briefed. Maybe she thought her trademark arrogance and bluster would see her through. And, yes, the media probably made too much of a meal of the incident. Abbott came a hideous cropper, living proof that in politics you never know what the next question will be.

I ALWAYS have a special sympathy for those MPs appointed to that vast, all-embracing edifice, the Department for Culture, Media & Sport. At the inaugural press conference the new minister, appointed for his brilliant grasp of 18th century portraiture, is made to look a wally by the first grinning reporter who asks him to explain the offside rule.