Peter Rhodes on cuckoos, thrushes and the Doctor Who approach to history

Isn't it wonderful to hear the song of the cuckoo undimmed by traffic noise or drowned out by airliners overhead? Well, yes it is, at least for the first few times. But when a cuckoo is on his 147th “cuckoo!” and you know it's the only song he knows, it does get a bit wearing, doesn't it?

Talking of which, has anyone invented a volume control for thrushes? Only asking.

Regarding that bit about aircraft noise. As I write, two private jets have just scorched overhead on their way to Birmingham Airport. So how do you socially-distance in a Learjet? The rich are not like the rest of us. We plebs are pinned down by the rules. The rich soar above the rules.

The bean-counters are moaning that if airlines created social space by removing the centre aisle of seats, the price of tickets would rise by 50 per cent. Excellent. If we are serious about building a cleaner, greener world, air travel should be expensive enough to make you ask whether you need that fourth foreign holiday of the year, or whether Las Vegas really is the only place for a hen party.

Told you so. A government adviser, Prof Robert Dingwall said the mandatory social distancing level was set at two metres only because Britons had not been trusted to observe one metre, as I suggested a few days ago. But I can't agree with the prof's suggestion that the two-metre limit could be eased to 1.5 metres, if only because most of the old and vulnerable couldn't tell 1.5 metres from a furlong. Not without a slide-rule anyway.

If you ever doubted that the BBC is actually an extension of the Civil Service, consider the suggestion (admittedly from an unnamed BBC source to a little-known new website) that the future of the TV licence is “probably some sort of household charge . . . possibly based on utility bills or council tax bands.” Can you seriously imagine any other TV company basing its charges on the size of your house? This is the Whitehall / municipal mind-set in all its glory. It runs deep in the Beeb because the Corporation, in its heart of hearts, thinks of itself as part of the system and an arm of government.

My self-improvement in the lockdown continues with the second book in Robert Harris's trilogy starring Cicero in ancient Rome. You remember the days when the projectionist at your local fleapit got the reels out of order? That's my dilemma having discovered after about 20 pages of Imperium that it is not part two of the trilogy, but part one. Turns out I am reading it in the time-bending order 2-1-3. I expect the character Quis Medicus to appear at any moment. Doctor Who.