Camborne's Trevithick Day

Don't miss this year's Trevithick Day at Camborne; down in Cornwall's dark depths the streets come alive! It's a great day out: a grand procession of traction engines and vintage vehicles, with street entertainment, a market, parades of dancing, together with the odd quiet half. Trevithick Day's a real celebration of the Camborne area's industrial heritage.

Richard Trevithick was born in nearby Illogan, where his father ran a tin mine, in 1771. As a youngster he became fascinated by the engineering side of mining. During his career, Richard pioneered the introduction of high-pressure steam engines to the mining process, and vastly improved the means of pumping unwanted water from the mine-shafts' lower reaches.

Richard’s mind was never still. His ideas ranged from a self-powered road vehicle, and a steam railway engine, to schemes for wreck salvage. He also looked at land reclamation, mechanical refrigeration, agricultural machinery, even tunnelling under the Thames. He never made much money, but he seems to have had a really great time.

Today we remember Trevithick particularly through his Puffing Devil engine. On Christmas Eve 1801 he made a short journey up Camborne Hill with his hissing, clanking machine, carrying a group of friends. The Puffing Devil was one of the world's first passenger-carrying self-propelled vehicles. The episode gave rise to the old Cornish song titled (you've guessed it) 'Going Up Camborne Hill'. Today, during the festivities a replica Devil can be seen in steam while the town has a fine statue of Richard, holding a model of his invention.

This year, Trevithick Day's on Saturday 28 April; the fun begins during mid-morning. Enjoy!

Easter: Chocolate Heaven!

I have mixed views on Easter. On the one hand, I resent any intrusion of religion into my daily life. I see the church – that’s to say, the Christian church in this country - as an idiosyncrasy in an ever more secular society. I'm not the only one.

The British Social Attitudes survey has been asking us about our religious views since 1983. The survey reveals that today, well over half of us aren't at all religious while Christian faiths are fast losing believers. Many of those British people who retain spiritual beliefs aren't Christians.

I visit churches for weddings and funerals, but really these are parties. When I fill in forms asking for personal religious details, I scrawl 'N/A' and move on. If the church is given airtime to 'speak out' on issues that don't concern it or about which it knows nothing, I shout at the television. My contact with religion is thankfully limited, but at Easter the church disturbs my order and routine; on Good Friday, the pubs shut early.

But at least we can all enjoy Britain's annual chocolate egg-fest. Maybe it's a hangover from childhood, but I have a great fondness for the old Easter egg. The satisfying snap as the first piece of shell is broken off; picking through the sweeties inside (to make this interesting, really they have to be different); wrapping the remaining shell in its foil, as we save a fragment for later.

So over the Easter break I'm looking forward to receiving loads of eggs, touch wood. Although if you like to believe it, touching wood didn't do much for Jesus.

Fight Osborne's Cornish Pasty Tax!

In Cornwall this week, Tory Chancellor George Osborne’s budget has caused widespread ill-feeling. Osborne’s applied the full force of VAT to food served to the public above ambient air temperature. For Cornish pasties, the Duchy’s staple diet, a huge price hike looms.

Each day in Cornwall thousands of pasties are eaten. Most bakeries sell pasties, but they aren’t necessarily piping hot. The purpose of heating is to cook them – the temperature at which they’re sold simply depends on how long they’ve been out of the oven.

Say we have a batch of freshly-baked pasties at the back of the shop, cooling on their trays. All the pasties on the front counter have been sold. The old price is £2.00. Now, thanks to Osborne’s carefree initiative, the customer will have a choice: either wait for the pasty to cool sufficiently and pay £2.00; or have one now and pay £2.40. Be ready for mad queuing systems, irate punters and frazzled staff.

Hundreds of Cornish people are employed in making and selling pasties; it’s business worth millions to the Duchy’s economy. Yesterday a campaign group – Say No To The Pasty Tax – appeared on Facebook. Cornwall councillor Alex Folkes, who set up the group, said: “Adding VAT will cause pasty sales to drop, with no extra money going to the baker. Lower sales will mean job losses, in areas which can’t afford them.” Cornwall’s economy is already creaking and Osborne’s idiotic legislation won’t help.

How HMRC will police the stupid rule isn’t yet clear while already, plans are being laid to circumvent authority. From writer and historian Craig Weatherhill, who lives in West Penwith: “Ok, I buy it, and pay when it's cold. Then they heat it up for me while I take a turn around the block or have a pint. Then I collect it hot, and eat it. But I bought it when it was cold. No VAT.” Simple and elegant, and Osborne’s initiative shunted aside.
 

All VAT changes, including the pasty tax, are up for public consultation until 4th May. This means you can have your say. The chap to write to is david.roberts4@hmrc.gsi.gov.uk - let’s hope he finds himself a busy man.

St Patrick's Day: Forty Shades of Piss-Up!

St Patrick's Day is with us again.

Sales of Guinness skyrocket; Plastic-Paddy pubs hand out shamrocked tat to anyone who drinks twenty pints of the old craic-juice. In bars everywhere, folksy cardboard leprechauns with articulating limbs are hung around as decorations, and bent by punters into hilarious attitudes. The humble spud, its price hiked, acquires a Today's Special cult status; the Irish eyes have it.

Into this spume-filled cauldron of culture, fighting, religious fervour and drunkenness, we introduce another dimension. Music to make your dog howl.

I love Irish traditional music. I've played it for years, and enjoy the company of those who play it. To listen to at home, I've a collection of beautiful, exciting songs and tunes. But what I find utterly toe-curling are the Irish standards, those terrible songs which every Paddy's Night get thrashed to death. 'Irish Rover'. 'Wild Rover'. 'Gypsy Rover'. And the all-time worst: 'Leaving of Liverpool'.

Why do I hate them so? Because they appear on oxymoronic CDs such as 'The Essential Foster and Allen'. Because they're mawkish slop. Because I've been driven quite mad by hearing them sung, or dribbled, year after year, by sweating pissed people in bars who want to be everyone's friend.

So this year let's really search our hearts, make an effort and learn some new songs to bawl out. Come round to my place, I've got the really good stuff.

Tory Councillor Caught Drink-Driving - Again!

A former Tory leader of Devon County Council has lost her licence for 14 months following a second drink-driving offence. Drunken pensioner Christine Channon, 69, was caught out after crashing close to her home in snobbish Budleigh Salterton.

Raddled Channon, who yesterday defended herself in court, denied having told the arresting officer she was a councillor. She said she’d drunk cans of Special Brew strong lager, often the choice of destitute alcoholics, before driving to the local all-night convenience store for groceries.

Channon’s resigned from the council's cabinet as portfolio holder for schools and learning, as she’s unable to remember much about the duties involved. But she has no intention of standing down entirely: “I’ve had tremendous support from the local community. Saturday nights, if I need help across the car-park some of the public bar lot will always carry me to the Merc.”

This isn’t the first time Channon’s attracted criticism. As a Councillor, she was accused of wasting public money after ignoring advice on the design of Sidmouth’s new pedestrian crossings, saying: “If they don't settle down we'll just look at changing them.” Such unconcern is hard to fathom, since for the next 14 months she’ll once again be reduced to shank's pony status.

Lucky Cornwall Gets New Hospital!

In a surprise move today, Cornwall’s much-loved medical service provider Serco Ltd has confounded its few critics by announcing the opening of a brand-new health facility for the people of West Penwith. Serco spokesperson Kelvin Slavery said: “We’re delighted to confirm another addition to our leading-edge healthcare services for you Cornish. The opening of the Mên an Tol Cottage Hospital demonstrates yet again the innovation and originality of the Serco brand. You’d have to be mad to believe there’s any better, cheaper solution to the medical needs of residents across West Penwith, including er St Austell.”

The hospital’s ground-breaking ‘medicine portal’ is currently being commissioned. Serco workers have laid new turf around the portal’s base, to remove muddy puddles and provide an enhanced hospital experience for patients.

Cornwall Council too is thrilled. During an on-site visit, Council spokesperson Kelvin Slavery said: “We’re delighted to confirm another addition to our leading-edge healthcare services for you Cornish. The opening of the Mên an Tol Cottage Hospital demonstrates yet again the innovation and originality of the Serco brand. Right, through you go, let’s test this mutha!”

Humperdinck To Carry Britain's Eurovision Hopes!

Britain, so often humiliated by feeble performances at the Eurovision Song Contest, has revealed its plan for victory at this year’s competition in Azerbaijan. Delivering a well-deserved slap in the face for British youth, the BBC's proudly announced grandfather-of-nine Englebert Humperdinck will perform at Baku in May.

Housewives’ favourite Humperdinck, 84, last had a UK hit in 1932. He’s thrilled at the opportunity, according to a statement released through his nurse. The aged balladeer’s film-star looks and sexy style will draw votes from drooling old women everywhere; it’s a tremendous scoop for Eurovision, already a programme rarely bettered in the field of light entertainment.

During a glittering career Humperdinck, whose imitators included Elvis Presley, has won many prestigious music awards including freedom of the city of Leicester. He’ll become the oldest singer ever to enter Eurovision, taking over from 75 year-old Croatian Ladislav Demeterffy who performed in 2008 and came last, sadly dying on stage.

Since only a complete idiot would take seriously any form of European institution, sending Humperdinck to Eurosong is inspired. Britain’s currently unpopular on the continent and it’s a good opportunity to stick two fingers up at them all. Once again though Susan Boyle and Bruce Forsyth have been cruelly overlooked; time for a supergroup, perhaps. But for now, good luck Englebert!

Pancake Day

Today is Pancake Day. Shrove Tuesday.

We all like pancakes. So why doesn't Pancake Day's arrival feature on telly any more?

Years ago, we used to get helpful adverts to remind us of the coming feast: 'Dont forget Jif Lemon Day'. The tart juice is squirted over the pancake; it counterpoints the piles of sugery gooh and provides one of your five-a-day. But this year, if I hadn't looked in my pocket diary (£2.99 from Poundland), I wouldn't have known the great celebration was upon us; what a nice surprise to perk up an overcast day.

In olden times, as 'Christians' were about to enter into the mad self-denial of Lent they'd enjoy one last feast. Eggs, cream, sugar, butter, all slapped together in a calorie-busting, gluttonous mountain. By the time they'd recovered it was Ash Wednesday; forty days of fasting on dust and gravel until the joy of easter eggs.

Over the years, in the United States Pancake Day has evolved into Fat Tuesday. But in America, Fat Tuesday is followed by Even Fatter Wednesday, Obese Thursday and Lard-Arse Friday.

When I was young, growing up in Merrie England, the BBC's Blue Peter children's programme always made a big thing about Shrove Tuesday, and showed you how to cook the best pancakes in the land. I don't know if they still do; I haven't been able to watch it since vandals destroyed the Blue Peter garden and disturbed poor Petra's ashes.

Spot The Difference (8): Dobby vs Charles Windsor

Dobby the elf is a character from the 'Harry Potter' series of children's books. Looks a little worried and anxious, eh readers.

Perhaps Dobby has terrible secrets he's afraid will be found out. Is he feeling guilty over some past misdemeanor? Does he live in dread of exposure and retribution? Or maybe he's just a sponging ponce.

And - oh, look, it's Charles Windsor.

Valentine's Day: Shop In The Name of Love

It's here. The first of the year's Megacorp manipulations, as we're induced to show love and affection for our partners by purchasing hopeless junk.

I love Valentine's Day, though I never get any cards. That's not important. It's the laughable rubbish touted in the name of VD, as I like to think of it, that I especially admire. On VD, if you don't shower the lodestar of your life with tat you're in deep trouble.

VD - To Do List
Garage

• Petrol for shopping expedition
• Bunch of flowers

Supermarket

• Chocolates
• Card with badge, song and arse-clenchingly embarrassing message
• Useless doll, or four-foot tall toy animal in pink: lurid pig, Mr Hippo, perhaps a great big hephalump.

Restaurant

• Book table for two (early-bird). Not Indian.

Or instead, maybe the thing to do is have a competition to see which of you can find the most pathetic or stupid VD gift. You'll still have to spend a bit of money on rubbish, but you'll have a great laugh presenting each other with the item you've chosen.

I guess it's important to get your other arf's agreement on this wheeze.