Peter Rhodes: Hunting the predators

AS you may be aware, I am no great fan of drones, those irritating mini-aircraft that snoop over our gardens on summery, sunbathing days. But the drone seems to have transformed the long-running war between police and those scumbags of the countryside, hare coursers. With a drone in the air, the cops can detect this sadistic activity, identify the vehicles involved and direct patrol cars to nick them. In a recent incident in Norfolk, a police drone traced four men; they were questioned and their 4x4 vehicle was seized. Coursers aim to terrorise and kill the innocent and beautiful brown hare. How fitting that, from the moment they hear the drone above them, they now know they are the prey, the predator has them in its sights and there is no escape. Poetic justice.

I LOVE the tale of the American student, Elijah Bowen, who followed the exam instructions to the letter. The kids were allowed to take a note card - or "cheat sheet" - into the exam room so long as it measured 3x5. While all the other students at the Maryland school used a 3ins by 5ins card, this lad brought in one measuring 3ft by 5ft, a massive crib sheet covering his desk and containing dozens of notes. The teacher has accepted blame, admitting that he should have specified the measurements involved, texting: "Well played and lesson learned for me." I dare say Elijah will have a promising career in law. The rest of us of a certain age can only reflect on how our teachers would have reacted to a 5x3ft crib sheet. Probably with that all-purpose tool of correction, the flying blackboard eraser.

SO farewell, J. Salmon. Britain's oldest postcard publisher is to close at the end of the year, a victim of the selfie culture. Why bother to find a pen, sit down and write: "Weather is here, wish you were lovely" when you can snap yourself with the Grand Canyon in the background and Instagram it half-way around the world in seconds? Mind you, in ye olden times, postcards seemed pretty damn fast. I recall it was possible to write something stupid to your girlfriend, post it and get her reply - dumping you - in the space of a single day. These days it can presumably be done in minutes. Progress, or what?

TALKING of writing things, the gas man called at Chateau Rhodes to deliver a cylinder of propane and signed the receipt with a magnificently flowery signature. Generations of folk have polished and perfected their signatures. How long before anyone even knows what one is?

IN a world riddled with internet scams, a good grasp of English remains our best defence. This, from yet another fake BT email: "This restriction will be disabled intermediately we confirm upgrade successful." Make a note of this one. Intermediately.

THANKS in no small part to you lot and your contributions, this column has been shortlisted in the 2017 Midland Media Awards. Well done, all.