Peter Rhodes on giving up diesel, our declining sea power and the fall of Mr Cuomo
Britain's climate tsar, Alok Sharma, admits driving a diesel car but declares: “My next car will be an electric vehicle.” In other words, as the old prayer goes, “Lord, make me better – but not yet.”
I only hope that Sharma's conversion to electricity brings him a warmer glow of virtue than I had a few years ago when I sold my wicked old diesel and bought a cleaner petrol model. The first thing I noticed was that while the petrol engine produces fewer nasty emissions than the diesel, it does only 35mpg compared to the diesel's 55mpg. My change of car has probably done tiddly-squit for the environment, while contributing to the profits of the oil barons.
Meanwhile, there is growing concern that while sales of electric cars are booming, there's a shortage of charging points. The world needs a portable charging unit which can perk up your car without draining the national grid. I am working on a brilliant design. Pity it runs on diesel.
Andrew Cuomo stands accused of groping female colleagues and must therefore resign as governor of New York. His conduct is unforgivable but he deserves to be remembered for more than that. In the early days of the pandemic, Cuomo delivered daily briefings that were an object lesson in how to inform a terrified public. He spoke with clarity, compassion, humour, frankness and raw, blistering rage as he denounced the dollars wasted and the lives squandered by “the gross negligence of this federal government”. His manner was somewhere between a favourite uncle and a stern boss, a curious style but perfect for a crisis.
The UK band British Sea Power (no, me neither) have changed their name to Sea Power, to avoid any connection with “isolationist, antagonistic nationalism”. Another good reason for changing the name is that, apart from those two massive floating car parks stuffed with American jets, Britain no longer has any sea power.
But once we had loads of sea power. In Catastrophe, his book on WW1, Max Hastings describes the diet that sustained jolly Jack Tars in the days when Britain governed a quarter of the world's landmass and ruled all the wet bits in between: “Aboard a British battlecruiser, some 2,000 eggs were cooked each morning, a further 1,000 at night. A seaman would think nothing of eating six eggs for breakfast.” Those were the days. Suez-bound. Singapore-bound. Egg-bound.