Rhodes on fake families, forgetting heatwaves and an unexpected appearance by the RAF's finest

“If 'family groups' are allowed into Britain, then expect a sudden increase in 'families' supplied, at a price, by the smugglers” (from this column April 28). “Traffickers are creating fake families to fool UK border staff” (from the Daily Mail this week). Sometimes, you honestly don't need a crystal ball..

Are you still alive? Me, too. Despite those apocalyptic warnings that we would be dropping like flies (Guardian: “Experts warn that thousands could die,” etc), we seem to have emerged unharmed from The Great Meltdown of '22. Maybe that's because, while Britain may be unused to such temperatures, Britons are not.

The unforgettable 1976 drought, which shapes so much of our climate thinking, burst upon a nation whose idea of a summer heatwave had been a couple of skin-burning hours at Skegness. Today's Brits have travelled the world. Millions experienced nothing this week that they hadn't already survived in Spain, Greece, Morocco or Cyprus. We should treat the weather with respect, but not with panic. We should also try to remember it. By the time this appears, this week's scorcher will already be half-forgotten.

Statistics for our age. A survey reveals that one in three visits to the pub involve no alcoholic drinks. I bet this is partly explained by a scientific breakthrough of the past few years; zero-alcohol beer that actually tastes like beer and not like floor polish. The survey? Organised by the alcohol-free beer lobby, naturally.

The Sunday Times had a valiant stab at identifying the “Nothing Works Syndrome” by listing all the things that let us down, from rail strikes to cancelled flights, NHS failures and banking malfunctions. But it's a list too long for anyone to print in full. In fact, it's much simpler to list the things in Britain that do work. There are only two. The armed forces work and so do the newspapers. By and large, the rest is rubbish.

Mrs Rhodes had a birthday this week and just as we were drinking her health in the garden, the Red Arrows roared overhead and burned off a little coloured smoke.

Strangely enough, some years ago I was at a sailing rally and, just as the prizes were awarded, the Red Arrows flew past. How do they know . . ?