Peter Rhodes on woolly heroes, shocking price hikes for electricity and the curious case of the vanishing L
Joys of predictive texting. A reader reports receiving a message from a friend just back from the supermarket who texted: “Just popped to testosterone.” Tesco, apparently.
Our changing language. The Olympics have surely hastened the process, identified by language experts, of the final L in some words being pronounced as W. Thus, Team GB have won lots of gold medaws, silver medaws and bronze medaws. I fear it is the end of the road for the final L, especially as many Olympic winners are such influential role modews.
Pandemic words to ponder. “The only pre-existing health condition he had was the belief in his own immortality.” Jenny McCann on the death of her super-fit twin brother John Eyers who died within a month of contracting Covid-19.
Why do farmers shear sheep? Not to make money. Today, most wool is virtually worthless and shearing is done for animal welfare. Some wool is simply composted. But now the British diver Tom Daley, spotted knitting a woollen pattern at the poolside, and football hero Harry Styles, seen in a magnificently retro patchwork cardigan, are being hailed as saviours of British wool. The society magazine Tatler declares a knitting revival. If it continues can't you picture hordes of happy, smiling farmers saying what a great year they've had? Maybe not.
Announcing huge price rises for millions of gas and electricity users, the Ofgem chief executive Jonathan Brearley says: “We’re not going back to the bad old days when companies were making extra profits.” Really? So when were these bad old days? And at the time did anyone admit they were profiteering wildly? Or did some so-called watchdog assure us piously that global fuel prices had risen and the energy companies had no option but to hike prices, blah, blah?
And how many years from now will it be that Ofgem defends yet another round of shocking price rises - assuring us that this is nothing like the profiteering of the “bad old days”. And we'll do the sums and figure out that the “bad old days” were 2021.
The Frying Pan is a rare pub name. There used to be one in the East End haunts of Jack the Ripper and another in Darlaston. The London one closed years ago and Darlaston's “struggling” Frying Pan is about to be converted into a business centre. I don't know of another Frying Pan pub. Do you?
