I do have opinions, points of view. These opinions generally fall into two broad categories. Those that are obvious and coincide with most other people’s opinions e.g. Islamic State and climate change are bad things, and those opinions which may be contentious but where I can see and accept the POV of the other side.

Generally speaking, I tend not to impose my opinions, my beliefs on others. Sure, if a subject comes up in conversation I’ll say my piece but without announcing that what I say is the last word on the matter and that everyone who disagrees is wrong. And most certainly I never shout my mouth off on social media where one can be dragged into an inescapable vortex of people baying and shouting into the void where there is no pretence or hope of arriving at a consensus.

But I suddenly became a militant the other day. Sitting in my car, negotiating a long diversion to reach my destination, then crawling back through town at a snail’s pace (this was in the middle of a working day, who was doing the work?) I became a member of the anti-car militant front. One way or the other this has to stop. Jersey has more registered vehicles than people. In many families every adult owns a car. Virtually every piece of land not otherwise designated is full of parked vehicles.

I don’t have the answers, who does? The small measures that are being taken to encourage walking, cycling, public transport and to make town less of a polluted hellhole are the subject of outcry from those who presumably think the present situation is quite OK. It is not OK.

And from one cause to another. All my (long-ish) life I’ve eaten pretty much what takes my fancy including meat and fish and other animal products, the staple of most diets. Recently, and under guidance, I modified my diet and lost a fair chunk of weight. On looking at my new routine I observed that what I was now eating was, in the main, plant-based. Some lean meat certainly, some fish, but predominantly vegetables, grains, fruit, beans etc. I thought, well I’m pretty much a vegetarian now and it wouldn’t be much of a jump to make it so.

Then, out of curiosity, I looked up what a ‘vegan’ was. Turns out veganism can be as much a form of activism as it is food choices. Animal rights is a proper crusade with its proponents determined to make known the cruel and inhumane treatment of animals during their often sorry lifetimes and barbaric deaths. Tiptoeing into the subject on Twitter, trying to get a grip on what the facts were and suggesting there may be mitigations, I was howled down with something approaching hatred. My first reaction? I’m not going to be lectured, I’ll make my own mind up.

My decision? The activists are correct. There are no grey areas. I might slip up occasionally but I’m now essentially a vegan. But I’m not going to shout at everyone who isn’t, simply explain my reasons if asked.

That’s a trend I never saw coming. Apparently it’s been here a while as well. People don’t wear watches any more. Or at least many people don’t. I only noticed this for the first time yesterday (which says a lot about how much I stay relevant these days, I guess). I work a couple of days on the front desk at Hamptonne Country Life Museum here in Jersey. As part of the entry protocol, visitors need to sign in for Covid Track & Trace. Increasingly, many do so using a QR code – we’ve all become experts on QR codes over the last year or so. But there are also little paper slips which are easily filled in as well. Easily, only for the inevitable, “What’s the date?” followed seconds later by “What’s the time?”

Long ago, when I was growing up, everybody had a watch. To not have one on your wrist meant that either (1) you’d forgotten to put it on or (2) you were some sort of poor person.

I guess that people will say we all have phones, but isn’t it simpler just to glance at a watch? The average woman at least will take many seconds retrieving a phone (or anything) from the depths of her handbag. To digress, after 68 years I still have no clue what women find to stuff inside a handbag. It would take me for ever to find belongings to fill up an average handbag. (Not that I own a handbag you understand.)

Full disclosure – I’ve always worn a watch. These days it’s a Garmin which I use for running but it serves to give the time of day when not called upon to do anything more demanding. But I do remember the pre-digital days when you needed to wind it up, checking with someone else for the ‘right time’ if you’d let it run down completely. I also recall that you could, in extremis, use a public phone to dial TIM and a nice lady would tell you the time. (I read that the service was only withdrawn in 1986.)

Before the Industrial Revolution no one seemed to bother too much about the precise time. You got up when it got light, lit a candle when it got dark and went to bed when you were tired. Then someone invented the sundial which, as I understand, never became a popular attraction.

I understand that the high end of the watch market – the Rolex/Patek Philippe etc – is still holding up though more for investment value than show. Rich people can demonstrate their richness in many other ways these days, such as taking a ride into Space.

So – as I should have asked before I did all that writing, do you wear a watch?

News of the 2020/21 Covid-19 pandemic has been, from the outset, through the power and reach of the internet, widely publicised and commented upon. CLOSE THE BOARDERS (sic) bayed many in Jersey in the early months.

65 years ago there was an outbreak of the dreaded poliomyelitis in Cork in southern Ireland. Though news travelled less swiftly in those far off days, travel it did. And the panic was disproportionate in relation to the damage which, was, in the event, very well dealt with.

Ireland loves its sport, and Cork more than most. That year both Cork’s Gaelic football and hurling teams had reached their respective All-Ireland finals, to be played in Dublin. The women’s camogie (similar to hurling) team had likewise reached the All-Ireland semi-final, to be played against Mayo in Castlebar, the county town of Mayo in the north west of the country.

There was outcry in Dublin and Castlebar. The residents of those places were panicked and demanded that the games be cancelled so that the expected hordes of plague-carrying Cork supporters would not come. The governing body, the GAA, duly postponed the matches but eventually they all went ahead. Cork’s men lost both of their matches, the loss to Wexford at hurling proving to be the 10th and last All-Ireland final appearance of the great Christy Ring, eight of those appearance being on the winning side.

The Mayo ladies refused to play the rearranged semi-final so Cork progressed to the final to face Antrim in Dublin. By all accounts the better team, Cork were beaten by a heroic goalkeeping display by 14-year-old Teresa Kearns.

In the event, the 1956 polio epidemic claimed just five deaths in Cork and 20 across the country. The disease has now been virtually eradicated around the world.

In the absence of a pic from 1956 here is Cork’s All-Ireland-winning camogie team from 1934.

This is a pleasing little story from the north Midlands of England. Not earth-shattering, and it probably would have remained in obscurity only for a folk singer/songwriter.

Pigeon fancying, pigeon racing got popular in England during the years of the Industrial Revolution. In the north in particular it became a hobby for some men, a release from their grim working lives down the mines or in the factories.

This story concerns such a man, Charlie Hudson, who lived in Brook Street, Derby. He bred pigeons and one day in 1913 he entered his prize bird for a 1,000 mile race from Rome back to the birds’ home lofts. Charlie knew that it was unlikely he’d see his bird again but he wanted to experience what freedom was like, vicariously, through his pigeon.

‘Yeah, I know, but I had to try
A man can crawl around or he can learn to fly
And if you live ’round here
The ground seems awful near
Sometimes I need a lift from victory’

As predicted, few pigeons made it back home. Charlie’s bird did. And today the King of Rome stands proudly in a glass case in Derby Museum.

Folk singer Dave Sudbury wrote some words about the King and composed a song. June Tabor and others covered it, most recently a powerful brass band-backed version by the Unthanks.

Long live the King of Rome.