Peter Rhodes on heavenly chips, a naval disaster and a trip to Britain's best M-way services
Our changing language. This came from an internet trader: “We'll send a confirmation after your items ship.” It proves the old American theory that there ain't a word that can't be verbed.
Talking of ships, I referred a few days ago to a Royal Navy sailor's hat band, as seen on All Creatures Great and Small (C5). An old salt writes to point out that its correct name is not a band but a tally. Furthermore, the tally is tied at the side by a bow called a tiddly. Another one for the pub quiz.
If my reference to HMS Repulse in All Creatures Great and Small puzzled you, on December 10, 1941, HMS Repulse and HMS Prince of Wales were sunk by Japanese warplanes in the South China Sea, with the loss of 840 sailors. The C5 programme makers inserted a plot alert that would be understood - but only by people with a grasp of naval history. Very odd.
As a rule I avoid motorway services which involve leaving the motorway at an island. I made an exception a few weeks ago to fill up at Rugby Services on the M6. It was clean, spacious, easy to navigate and all-round excellent with loads of cafes and a kids' play area. So no surprises that it's just been voted Britain's favourite motorway services. But to be fair it is also one of the newest services, opening in April last year. And how many of Britain's less popular services started life spick, span and appealing, only to decline horribly after millions of repeated contacts with Joe Public? I stopped last year at what I remembered was a charming and immaculate services. What a tip it had become.
Welcoming Rugby Services' success, the AA president Edmund King says: “In terms of road safety, it is essential that drivers take a break at least every two-and-a-half hours.” Your new electric car, gagging for volts after 200 miles, may have other ideas. So for that matter may your bladder.
Thanks for your memories of chips and mayonnaise. Strange, isn't it, how they stick in the brain? My all-time best were served from a frites wagon in the Normandy town of Fécamp. The chips of the gods came with a mustard/mayonnaise dip, and just a dash of immortality.