Peter Rhodes on T-shirts, traffic jams and a princess's vanishing memory
Nothing is quite as fluid as money, especially rich people's money.
Which makes me suspect that half the money earmarked for all the grandiose social engineering planned by all the political parties has, over the past few weeks, slipped overseas or vanished into untraceable trusts, invisible funds and impenetrable accounts. Just a theory.
Nine days in glorious Devon has cut me adrift from my regular trawls through news websites. Bring me up to date. Did we ever get to the bottom of the Gary Lineker T-shirt row? Last thing I saw was a claim that Lineker “appeared” to be wearing a pale green T-shirt from the Next X Gary Lineker range. Well, good luck to him.
So long as Lineker isn't actually holding the T-shirt to the camera and saying: “Hey, lads - look dead cool in my summer range,” what's the harm? However, having studied the offending garment, my only advice to the great man is that it looks a tad dull. Who'd have thought a simple T-shirt could make a lean, lithe global sporting superstar look like a retired librarian?
Incidentally, if you're the sort who enjoys spotting product placement on telly, then autumn and winter offer much richer pickings than high summer. When temperatures tumble, spot how many reporters, commentators, wildlife experts and the rest pop up from news scenes in a certain brand of outdoor kit. We're watching...
Our return from Devon was delayed by a snarl-up on the M5 with thousands of vehicles diverted. The result was a stream of delayed drivers in no mood to stop for anything. Thus, Mrs Rhodes and I found ourselves as the only customers at Sedgemoor services, surrounded by hordes of attentive staff. This must be how royalty feels.
Talking of which, when Princess Anne was admitted to hospital with concussion and temporary memory loss, did she wonder, when she awoke, why everyone was curtseying to her, and her hospital wristband began with “HRH?” Did anyone have to explain to her what a princess was and how she came to be one?
And did the corridors of Bristol's Southmead Hospital, echo to HRH's reaction: “I'm a bloody what...!?"
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