Peter Rhodes: Alan's Achilles' heel

PAINKILLERS, jiffy bags, anti-allergy drugs. Have you reached the stage where you turn the page or switch TV channels at any mention of professional cycling, and hope it will all go away?

SIX months ago I suggested: “Let's have an investigatory pause between any team or individual winning any competition and the award of the trophy. About four years should do it.” True then, truer now.

ALAN Titchmarsh has finally apologised for promoting timber decking. The TV gardener describes decking as his Achilles' heel, but says in its defence: “ If you slip and fall over on it you only bruise yourself rather than break your hip, which you do on stone.”

THE point is, Alan, that you're 10 times more likely to slip on decking than any other garden surface. But the chief drawback with decking is that it proves a great home for one of Britain's most successful animals. If you want to see a rat, lift some decking.

AS MI6 launches a new recruiting campaign, here are some good reasons to avoid spookdom altogether. I speak with some authority, having just ploughed through all 10 series of Spooks (BBC) on Netflix. I am all Spooked out.

IF you are considering a job with MI5 or MI6, remember the following: Spooks are all paranoid and you are as likely to be shot by your colleague as by the enemy. Under no circumstances should you visit a “safe house” as they are always very unsafe. No matter how long you are imprisoned or tied up, you must never ask for the loo. You are contractually obliged to make the car tyres squeal, even when creeping up on the enemy. You must never lock your door on entering your house. Every car you get into has an enemy spook hidden on the back seat. Anybody you fall in love with will die. The more heroically you perish, the more likely your family is to believe your job was “something rather dull at the Foreign Office.”

THE moment I cherish in Spooks is when it is revealed that MI6 has a satellite hundreds of miles high capable of detecting human heartbeats through 30 feet of reinforced concrete. And nobody even raises an eyebrow.

I WAS invited to attend an AGM, one of thousands held each year throughout the UK where like-minded folk gather to call their best mate Mr Treasurer and make old jokes about passing a motion through the chair. This one restored my faith in local democracy and the deadpan English sense of humour. Mr Treasurer reported that the £2,000 invested in the bank's High Interest account had earned £4 and the bank had told him that next year the High Interest account would pay no interest at all. Mr Webmaster reported that, as far as he was aware, the Russians had not made any cyber attacks on the club's website. Madame Secretary said 14 new members had joined but 14 old members had either died or resigned. And there you have it. A perfect microcosm of 21st century British life. An ageing society at the mercy of the banks, vaguely worried about the interwebby thingy, but smiling through. Any other business . . .?