CONTRARY to the view expressed by one of their number, I am not anti-cyclists. Indeed, my first Saturday job was as what was known in those days as a delivery boy and I delivered groceries to a nearby shop’s customers in the days when such vehicles – for want of a better description – had this large basket in a frame on the front in which the shop’s owner would pile boxes of provisions for delivery.

Incidentally, that particular bike was of the fixed wheel variety – something a million miles away from today’s multi-gear efforts which look to someone like me more complex to operate than a Formula One racing car. Fixed wheel, for those who’ve never heard the expression, means that the pedals had to go round even when cycling down hills.

Having set that out, can I also say that I agree with Tony Moffa, the vice-president of Velo Sport Jersey, that neither he nor any of his cycling confreres should have to put up with the sort of violent behaviour from motorists that he described in a recent article.

I was taught to ride my first bike – not a present but paid for out of money I’d accrued by various means – by the old man, which was strange because I never once saw him ride one himself. All I knew about his cycling prowess was that, to my mother’s horror – nay, terror – he once with a mate cycled the length of St Catherine’s breakwater, not on the top walk but on the top wall.

Returning to Mr Moffa, perhaps he would care to reflect upon just a couple of things he said when being interviewed, and I quote: ‘I was coming up from Havre des Pas to the traffic lights at the bottom of Mont Millais. As I was coming up to the lights there was a row of cars and I went up the inside of the two lanes, where there is a large gap.’

Might I respectfully suggest to Mr Moffa that, in the particular instance I quote, had he taken his turn at the rear of the queue of cars, like other road users invariably do, and not overtaken on the inside of a line of vehicles – something that I was always taught was against the law – he would not have had his picture in this newspaper.

THE Post Office’s chief executive, Kevin Keen, seems a nice enough bloke and is clearly trying – reminiscent of King Canute, I have to say – to push back the flood waters threatening the business, principally the massive traffic in emails and the like.

However, the fact that it needed to go to the extraordinary expense of a survey of no fewer than 40,000 people to tell him what the Last of the Summer Wine corner in my local pub could have told him for half a dozen light boilers and a similar number of large Calvados’ indicates to me that his ear isn’t quite as close to the ground as perhaps it should have been.

There was no way on earth that a two-tier postal delivery system was ever going to meet with public approval and if the exercise was introduced – as some people certainly believe – simply as a demonstration to those who hold the postal purse strings (whoever they may be now the outfit don’t have a Committee for Postal Administration to report to) then might I suggest that it was a total waste of money.

If Mr Keen and his colleagues want any further lessons in identifying the obvious, he could well do worse than drop me a line and I’ll arrange one of those plenary sessions (which former TGWU official Mick Kavanagh used to love) of the aforementioned pub corner.

In the meantime, I’ll give him the answer to his next pressing question – and waive the fee on this occasion – by telling him that the earth is round, not flat.

I was amused to read the bit by my fellow columnist Meridian concerning Nerina Pallot, who might well qualify as one of the best ambassadors this small rock has at present. Indeed, the way she acts in the interests of her native island is reminiscent of what Bruce Trent used to do.

As older readers will recall, Mr Trent started life as Billy Butters – anyone remember his sister Rosie? – and was launched on his extremely successful singing career when Lady Trent (nee Jerseywoman Florrie Rowe) took him under her wing.

What amused me about the piece Under the Clock was Steve Wright introducing Nerina as ‘Nerina Pallot, as in shallow’. I happen to be related to a family of Pallots and as recently as a couple of hours ago (because I rang and checked) the patriarch of that particular branch told me he would have said ‘Pallot as in hollow’.

I’ve mentioned that because it’s one of those nice quirky things about Jersey and its names that could run and run. No doubt the pub corner will discuss it this evening.

I see that we’re going to have yet another report on the taxi and cabs saga, which seems to have been going since Noah was a boy. Quite what yet more paper – to go with the reams and reams that have already been produced over several decades – will achieve is anyone’s guess. Is there any wonder the important things get pushed to one side when ministers and States Members, not to mention the hired help, get bogged down on issues that government really has no business poking its nose into.

And finally,

It’s 60 years to the day since the headmaster came into my class and told us, in very sombre terms as I recall vividly, that the King had died and we now had a new Queen. A lot has happened in those six decades, not all of it beneficial to mankind, but to her eternal credit Queen Elizabeth the Second has been a steady and constant presence and for that I give thanks.