Now everything in the supermarket has its ‘organic’ alternative. Still more expensive, but within range of those people who are not on a tight budget and are keen to save the planet whilst eating healthy food.

But who defines what is organic and what is not? Shoppers who assume it means food grown without pesticides or fertilizers need to do a bit of checking if they are not to be misled.

Here’s an example: Morrison’s Organic Corn Flakes. On the box it says

Organic standards prohibit the use of genetically modified ingredients and seek to avoid routine use of artificial pesticides and fertilizers.

Such weasely phraseology would make a home-flipping MP blush.

The film ends as he is preparing to go to Hamburg, and The Beatles are not mentioned by name, but they were about to shake the world in ways which nobody at the time could have foreseen. The credits soundtrack is Lennon’s Mother, an anguished elegy for his mum Julia. Her virtual abandonment of him caused so much pain, undoubtedly shaped his personality and – crucially – influenced his writing and his music. Perhaps this was the grit in the oyster, helping to produce the pearls which are the songs of Lennon and McCartney.

Of course it’s impossible to imagine how the world would look now if it hadn’t been for the impact of The Beatles. But whether you listen to their music or not, they were prime movers in a post-war revolution which changed Western society and the way we think about ourselves.

The film contained one or two anachronisms. Too much cigarette smoking, even for the 1950′s. Modern beer glasses, the word ‘band’ instead of ‘group’, and I don’t think ‘gig’ was in common usage. Also, before the sexual revolution, girls didn’t fuck boys, boys fucked girls. Some characters are completely omitted from the story.

However, Nowhere Boy does not try to be a completely faithful historical account. The actors are not made up to be look-alikes, and the locations are sympathetic rather than accurate replicas. This is an intelligent approach which works well, and avoids over-detailing which is inevitably distracting.

There are so many pitfalls when making a biopic, but Nowhere Boy avoids all of them. It’s incredibly moving, with an accomplished performance by Aaron Johnson as Lennon, and Kristin Scott Thomas as his somewhat repressed aunt Mimi. Anne-Marie Duff’s portrayal of the histrionic Julia Lennon, and David Morrissey’s Bobby Dykins are note-perfect too. A little gem of a film.

So every decade you have to spend £4 on some more photos and send one in with £20 in the supplied envelope (which isn’t even pre-paid) to avoid a Dorian Gray-type mismatch between your actual face and the one on your licence in the drawer at home.

And beware of sending off the renewal application sooner than you need because the new licence expires ten years from the date of issue, not ten years from the expiry of the old one.

Parents who allow their children alcohol at home may be increasing the chances of future drinking problems, he claims. Sir Liam described the idea of a glass of watered-down wine for a child as a “middle-class obsession”, whilst also declaring as scientific fact the idea that “a lack of parental supervision, exposing children to drink-fuelled events and failing to engage with them as they grow up are the root causes from which our country’s serious alcohol problem has developed.”

Well, which is it? Are “middle class” parents (whoever they are) really causing the city streets to be full of drunken lads and ladettes every weekend?

He also wants to take the monetarist approach in tackling this scourge. If alcohol were more expensive, people wouldn’t get drunk. Do they have the same problems in France, Spain or Italy where alcohol is cheaper than in Britain?

The issue is cultural, not price driven. You don’t change attitudes to drunkenness by targeting parents who show good modelling about moderate alcohol consumption. Neither do you convince young people that it is not fun to drink until you are sick, by increasing the cost of doing so.

The roads would be safer if all vehicles were automatic, of course. No risk of stalling half way out of a junction. No need to take one hand off the steering wheel all the time. More attention available to deal with hazards and to control the speed and direction of the vehicle.

To quote Jerry Seinfeld:

The thing I admire most about the Chinese is that they’re hanging in there with the chopsticks. Because if you think about it, you know they’ve seen the fork, by now.

Well, I admire people who insist on buying cars with manual transmission, despite being fully aware of the automatic gearbox.

With hard hat, goggles, mask, earplugs and gloves he drilled a hole in the wall and fitted a metal eye. This was just to lash the ladder. Then he donned a safety harness and clipped himself onto the ladder. Climbing all of two metres he drilled the wall and attached the dish.

After completing the installation he stood back, admired his work and smoked a cigarette.

“The idea that we have known where he is and we could have gotten him anytime, that just isn’t the case.”

said Chief Inspector of the US Marshals Service Thomas Hession. Well, as Polanski’s agent Jeff Berg says,

“How hard would it be to find someone shooting a major film in a European country? He travels with transparency across Europe. It makes no sense.”

If it takes 30 years to capture Roman Polanski, then don’t expect them to get Osama Bin Laden any time soon.

Good. Not that I have any appreciation of the game. I watch a football match on TV with the same level of comprehension as our cat. We can both see coloured shapes moving around on the screen but that’s about it. But Urbis has been a white elephant from the start.

The exhibitions I have visited were disappointing and a bit well, thin. There’s just too much space and not enough to go in it. And too many staff. For example the gimmicky lift which goes up diagonally has its own attendant. And he or she is actually in radio contact with other staff. “I’m just going up now.”

So I welcome the proposal to put this building to better use. It will be a draw to the city and if I visit the Football Museum I might even become a convert to The Beautiful Game.

I have been putting it off because I had read horror stories about Telefonica customer services, and indeed had experienced their bureaucratic maze myself several years ago. That was when I tried to return the old rotary dial handset which was on rental, to replace it with a pushbutton handset I had bought.

I was told to take it to the Telefonica shop in town, get a receipt and then phone back to arrange the billing adjustment. So I did, but on phoning back, they said that that was the wrong procedure! They have continued to charge handset rental to this day, and I have lost the receipt.

Of course it would help if I could speak Spanish, but in school they taught me French and German and my brain doesn’t seem to have room for a third language. Fortunately Telefonica has a special number you can ring from outside Spain if you want to speak to them in English, French, Spanish or German (+34 917 073 921).

They ask you why you want to cancel, and they need the account holder’s passport number. In lieu of that they will accept the last four digits of the bank account from which direct debits are taken.

So far so good! There was a long pause during which time I was rehearsing in my head the story of the now missing handset. But I need not have worried. “It will be cancelled within 48 hours. Have a nice day.” And that was it! Should have done it ages ago. Tres hurras for Telefonica.

What kind of unthinking adherence to safety advice results in this absurd risky behaviour from four presumably rational people?

“Quick, get out!”
“Er, but it’s raining.”
“Get out! Get out! It’s not safe.”
“Hmm. I see what you mean. Another vehicle could leave the carriageway and plough into our car.”
“Exactly. So get out and stand next to it. Then you will be invincible.”