It's madness that Prince Philip, 97, is driving and families should make sure 'motorists over 70 are still capable'
We are told that he should be arrested, beaten up in the cells, charged with attempted murder then sentenced to five million years in jail. However, when it’s Phil The Greek, the reaction is a bit different.
We ignore the women and the baby in the people carrier and sit back in wide-eyed wonderment that a 97-year-old man can simply walk away after rolling his Land Rover.
Normally, only Richard Hammond can do that. And then we take to social media to say he must be made from granite and that he’ll never die. And that the entire nation should sink to its knees and thank God that he was spared.
Yes, well, while I’m very glad that no one was seriously hurt, I’m afraid my reaction was: “What the bloody hell is a man of that age doing behind the wheel of a car?”
Yes, dreary motoring groups always tell us that older drivers are safer than “young yobboes” but I’m not so sure.
As Jasper Carrott once said of his mother-in-law: “She’s never been in an accident. But she’s seen thousands.”
On the same day that the Duke had his prang, an inquest heard that a 71-year-old man had died, along with his grandson, while driving round the lowered gates and past the red lights at a level crossing.
Speechless by the antics of elderly drivers
Figures from Essex show that the over-70s are involved in 12 per cent of accidents, even though they account for only seven per cent of the miles driven.
And I’m constantly left speechless by the antics of elderly drivers who dither and freeze at double mini roundabouts.
The law, at present, is a joke. Motorists over 70 must complete a self-assessment form every three years and declare they are good enough to keep on driving.
That’s madness.
I appreciate, of course, that testing all of the nation’s elderly every year would cost the NHS a fortune but I do think that families could get involved.
I know it’s hard. In her last few years, my mother was displaying all the warning signs.
On one trip to Guildford, she pulled off the M25 at every junction and then got straight back on it because she’d seen a sign for Gatwick. Which was confusing, she said, because it also began with a G.
I should have said something. I should have done something. But I didn’t.
And neither did the relatives of a 73-year-old motorist who, in 2016, set off without his much-needed spectacles and ended up killing a three-year-old girl.
Mrs Queen, however, is a wise old bird. As far as I know she hasn’t put a foot wrong in her entire life.
Let’s hope she keeps that up now, and sends her husband’s licence back to Swansea.
Batman PM… go West
IN his magnificent speech to Parliament this week, Michael Gove pointed at Jeremy Corbyn and said: “No way can this country allow that man to be our Prime Minister.”
Unfortunately, the person providing the subtitles misheard, so on the television screen it said: “No way can this country allow Batman to be our Prime Minister.”
There was, of course, much hilarity. But not from me because, as things stand, I think it would be a brilliant idea to have Batman in charge.
At present, Mrs May goes to Europe in her silly shoes and her trouser suit and says: “Please may we have some concessions.” And they say: “No.” Then snigger when she leaves the room.
Surely it’d be far better to dispatch a man with a rubber face mask and a cape and a car that can drive on the ceiling. This would get their attention.
The only question is, which Batman do we want?
Christian Bale is a bit dark and untrustworthy. Same goes for Michael Keaton. Ben Affleck apparently has issues with the booze. And Val Kilmer just looks weird.
So I’d go with the original. The man from the television series that started it all. Adam West.
He wouldn’t mess about. When Jean-Claude Juncker says we must pay up or else, there’s a “kapow” caption and the sound of a cricket bat hitting a joint of pork.
And when we return to the action, Juncker is on his back and all is well in our world.
Brexit? We May be stuck
I’VE done some serious workings out on this Brexit business and as I see it, there are five possible outcomes. None of which will work.
- There’s a second referendum. But this won’t happen because everyone knows the result will be, broadly speaking, the same. Which means we go to a lot of trouble and expense and achieve nothing.
- Mrs May is ousted as leader. That won’t happen either, because the Tories know they’d tear themselves to shreds while deciding whether her replacement should be a Remainer or a Brexiteer.
- There’s a general election. So we’d end up with either Mrs May, who wants to stay in Europe, or Jeremy Corbyn, who wants to stay in Europe.
- We leave with no deal.Almost no MP wants this so it can’t ever happen.
- Europe backs down. Yes, and then some angels arrive on unicorns and everything is all right in the world.
I’m afraid that we are completely and utterly stuck. And all we can do, out here in the real world, is go to the pub.
French farce
CRIKEY. The French government announced this week that it is bringing back national service.
All of the country’s 16-year-olds will have to do time wearing a uniform, standing to attention, singing the national anthem and then, at the first hint of gunfire, raising a white flag and running away.
Game safe from me
OH dear. It seems that people who shoot game birds are in trouble.
Because after they’ve been shot, some of the birds are simply bulldozed into the hedge. Rather than taken home for the pot.
Now, I should explain at this point that I like shooting. I’ll be out there today, in fact, with my wellies and my 12-bore.
But I can never be accused of waste.
Because instead of shooting the birds, what I always do is shoot the sky just behind them.
Grey-t Britain
FOR the first time ever, grey is now the No1 choice for people buying a new car.
Black was the next most popular choice, with white coming in third. And that begs a question. What’s wrong with us?
We buy colourful clothes and colourful furniture and we like to spend our holidays under colourful skies on colourful beaches.
But when we drive around, we want it to be 1956.
Cinematic 'oversight'
IT’S a good job I’m not a film critic.
A friend invited me this week to the cinema to see Mary Queen of Scots.
But as I sat there, listlessly shovelling popcorn into my face, I became increasingly puzzled.
I admit my knowledge of the Tudors is quite weak but there was no one called Elizabeth or Mary, which I thought was an oversight.
Until later that night it transpired that, actually, I’d been watching a film called The Favourite.
Which is a film about why men are useless and stupid.
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