Peter Rhodes on birds, bangers and life, but not as we know it

Last week's item on the joys of electric motoring brings this sober reflection from a reader impressed with his new EV's technology but a tad depressed by his fellow humans.

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He explains: “Your smartphone will tell you whether there's a charger at the next service station. But it won't tell you whether some prat has parked a skip in front of it.”

I was alarmed to read one summary of the Supreme Court ruling on sex and gender which said it would have a “seismic” effect on public lavatories. I bet the activists won't take that sitting down.

Scientists say an ocean-covered planet 120 light years away may be teeming with life. First point: when you and I think of “life,” we naturally imagine hordes of wildbeeste thundering across a plain or mighty mountain gorillas saying hello to David Attenborough. However, when scientists refer to “life,” they may mean an unexciting smear of green slime.

Second point. If a planet is 120 light years away (about six trillion miles), the images we see of it from Planet Earth are, by definition, 120 years old. So for all we know, this planet, its life and oceans may have imploded and vanished from the universe many years ago and there is, in its place, a trillion-mile wide cinema curtain bearing the words: “Show's over – so long, folks.” (To be fair, this is only a theory).

Our neighbours have created a new vegetable bed and protected it with a dozen old dangling CDs whose flashy mirror finish is highly recommended for scaring off birds. But not all birds have got the message. I spotted a magnificent male pheasant with his beak almost touching a CD. Far from being scared, he seemed to be admiring his reflection, pretty boy.

New word for our age. Bodgeflation is the term coined by a garage website to describe sloppy DIY fixes which end up costing the driver more than a proper garage job. By chance, on the same day as this word was unveiled, it was reported that the cost of garage repairs has risen in a single year by a staggering 20 per cent. So when your silencer goes bang, what do you reach for, the cheque book or the Gun Gum . . ?

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