Singing in the rain

Is there perhaps at the bottom of the Thames, slithering back and forth with the tides, a muddy heap of mobile phones, glowing faintly in the dark, some emitting their last faint trills and so interfering with the radar of errant amphibians? I only wonder because nobody every returns to me the mobiles which, to the despair of Mrs Oakley, I lose at frequent intervals.

I use only secondhand untrendy models of no interest to passing youth and I label each one with name, address and telephone number. The last two were abandoned in taxis but never made it to the Lost Property Centre. Presumably it is too much trouble for the cabbies and so they just chuck them in the river. On Saturday, the latest went steaming on in the luggage rack towards East Grinstead as I alighted at Lingfield Park. Goodbye, small friend.

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Ross Clark

Britain is living beyond its means

Lingfield itself was wet, cold and almost unraceable.