Peter Rhodes on handwriting, sales slogans and the joy of dining with strangers

But the decline of writing is nothing new. I'm in the process of transcribing my grandfather's war diary of 1914-19 and, although he used far too many commas and spelt almost every French place-name wrongly, his writing is a perfect copperplate, the result of much practice using steel nibs and cheap paper. The simpler the technology, the better the handwriting.

Today's computer-game kids may not be able to dot an I or cross a T but, as they can conquer galaxies without leaving their own bedroom, who cares?

As a rule, when we eat out or have folks for a meal, it's a gathering of old friends. Except, that is, for the annual lunch organised by a business acquaintance who makes a point of filling his table with people who have never met each other. Suddenly, you're chatting with an auctioneer or a gold-valuer. I came away with a working knowledge of mergers and acquisitions in the energy sector while Mrs Rhodes now knows all about the art and craft of advertising toothpaste. The company of friends is grand but the company of strangers can be fascinating.

In the week that assisted dying was debated in Parliament, it struck me as strange that no-one has come up with a catchy sales pitch for the procedure, The old British Rail Inter-City 125 slogan might be useful: “Makes the going easy.”

(Clearly, the second part of the BR motto “And the coming back” won't apply).

If you're a teacher relishing the half-term break and dreading the return to work, consider this, Our grandson, aged four and proud as a peacock in his new school jumper, can't wait for school to resume. He tells us he really misses “teachers telling us fings.”

Mind you, some fings stick better than others. Drawing a series of circles, he proudly announced that these were the planets: “Mercury Mars, April . . .”