Peter Rhodes on the case for shooting Boris, more outrageous TV spending and double standards in comedy

YOU may have done the rage-inducing sums of how many TV licences it takes to pay for the BBC's superstars - 11,359 for Gary Lineker, 8,123 for Chris Evans, 2,427 for Zoe Ball and so on. Yet the Beeb is not the only one eager to part with our cash in front of the cameras. For example, how much has the AA spent on its latest TV advert for roadside recovery, rebuilding the sets and space rockets from Red Dwarf and reassembling the original cast for an advert that's more like a mini-episode?

THE difference, of course, is that if you object to how the AA spends your subscriptions, you have the option of switching to the RAC or Green Flag, or simply taking a chance and going without recovery insurance. There is no choice over the TV licence. Pay up or go to jail. I dare say such a draconian system appeals to that horrible hologram Rimmer (Chris Barrie) but real humanoids are beginning to revolt.

IF a male entertainer suggested that women were mere playthings for use on vacation, his career would probably be over. Yet in her stand-up show on Netflix the Canadian comedian Katherine Ryan tells her audience: "Men are like dolphins in that they should be enjoyed on holiday . . . but that doesn't mean you should have one in your house." And how does she get away with it? By the ancient art of shock. When Ryan launches into one of her four-letter tirades against the male of the species, it's like finding Bambi singing dirty songs. You're too surprised to be offended.

ON the same tack, somebody has slipped this kill-Boris message on to the Guardian website: "Does the season for shooting malicious egotists begin before or after the Glorious Twelfth? He has to be taken out." So is that innocent humour - or incitement to murder?

HYPERBOLE corner. According to their coach Phil Neville, the England women's World Cup team "left their hearts and souls on the pitch" when they were knocked out by the USA. Well, why stop there? Truly, the Lionesses have carved their names with pride on the heart of the nation, in the soul of their people and in the innermost psyche-thingy of the British bulldog's Dunkirk-spirited cerebral cortex. And, yes! Whenever a football whistle sounds in the future we will proudly remember them, our Lionesses of 2019: White and Bronze and Scott and, er, wossname, y'know, the short one and, er . . . .

FORGIVE my cynicism. It would, of course, be wonderful to see thousands of women taking to the football pitches of England as the legacy of the World Cup. But sports legacy is a fickle thing. We're still waiting for the legacy of the 2012 London Olympics to arrive, in the form of a sportier, leaner and fitter nation. So when it comes to women's football, let's not expect too much, too soon.