WASHED AND READY TO EAT

On the 100th anniversary of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, there's inevitably a lot of reflection on the 'great' war of 1914 -1918. Virtually every British publication has been preparing its own tribute or analysis. The Richmond Magazine is no exception. The glossy freebie, already familiar to readers of Washed and Ready to Eat , normally survives on a staple diet of articles from local divorce lawyers and ads for preparatory schools. In the latest edition, however, they have gone to town in commemoration of centenary of the European conflict.  Who better to ponder the implications of WWI than the great-granddaughter of the Archduke whose death kicked the whole shooting match off?  It goes without saying that Her Serene Highness Princess Marie-Therese von Hohenberg is herself a recipient of The Richmond Magazine , living as she does in the upmarket south-west London district of St Margarets. We are introduced to her husband, the 'interfaith ...

There are probably a large number of people who’d quite like to see former US Defense Secretary Don Rumsfeld sent to the moon. What they may not realise is that the eccentric octogenarian has already been there. At least if we believe ‘Captain Kaye’, a former military operative who’s been busy fighting to protect the human colonists on the red planet. The Mirror reported recently that Kaye (a pseudonym) had served in a secret, multinational fleet, dedicated to battling Martian life forms. After 20 years, the brave space warrior was given a fitting retirement party on the moon, which was attended by a number of VIPs, including Rummy. The hawkish politician is perhaps best remembered for his musings about Iraq, in which he distinguished between known knowns (things we know we know) and known unknowns (things we know we don’t know).  Up until a couple of days ago, his lunar connections fell into his third category of unknown unknowns. We didn’t know we didn’t know. Now that...

We’re used to foreigners borrowing English words and phrases. After all, we just have a way with words in Blighty and it’s hardly surprising that others want to snaffle them. I was slightly surprised, however, on a recent business trip to Germany, to see quite how far the phenomenon has gone. Picking up a copy of self-styled ‘fashion magazin’ Mädchen Style as a gift for my teenage girls, there’s evidence of a completely bizarre hybrid language which is neither fisch nor fowl. “Kann mann diese Hosen nur zum Sport tragen?” the mag asks its readers. The answer is a resounding “Nö!”  It becomes clear that ‘Stars und Fashionistas’ have judged this particular pair of jogging bottoms to be an absolute ‘It-Piece’ – not only ideal for running around the block, but also well suited to a catwalk promenade. On some pages, the headlines are written in English, while the body copy that follows is in German. And we’re then treated to a selection of colourful phrases that owe something t...

Resistance is futile: Washed and Ready to Eat's Phil Woodford models Google Glass Google Glass might as well be rebranded Google Gold Dust. Attending a masterclass in London sponsored by The Guardian newspaper, I soon discovered that the sexiest wearable tech in the world isn’t available to everyone. The duo hosting the show on 3rd June – video production experts Michael Rosenblum and Lisa Lambden – had got hold of their own device from a nephew’s colleague’s roommate. A couple of the participants had somehow got hold of their own Glasses too. Glasses? I have a hunch that the plural of Glass may actually turn out to be Glass. Anyway, one of the owners, who seemed to be connected to the UN and was responsible for protecting rhinos or something, wore his set throughout the session. If he’d let go of his x-ray specs, he’d probably never have seen them again, so desperate was everyone to get a selfie of themselves wearing them. My suspicion was that most people there a...

There's something about the Euro elections that leads to some truly weird and wonderful stuff coming through the door of Woodford Towers. We all hear plenty about the anti-Europeanism of Nigel Farage and his mates in UKIP, but there's rather less coverage afforded to Mike Nattras MEP and his peculiarly-named 'An Independence From Europe' party. A postcard-sized A6 flier announces that this little-known outfit tops the ballot paper. We should apparently look for its logo, which - confusingly - is the EU symbol and the word OUT, with a big red cross through it. At a glance, therefore, it looks as if Mike is actually against his own plea to exit the 26-strong club of nations. A rambling, closely-typed statement touches on the following issues: extradition; road pricing; the EU Army (sic); the HS2 rail link; free movement of workers; the closure of the Welsh Assembly; incinerators; private prisons; flood defences and megatrucks (which are, I discover, 60-tonne, 25-me...

Transport for London have invented another atrocious piece of jargon to accompany 'touch in' and 'touch out'. The largely incomprehensible world of Oyster is now apparently rife with 'card clash'.  Passengers are warned via posters and Tannoy announcements to avoid this bizarre affliction, which occurs when your contactless credit card is inadvertently charged as you tap your Oyster. You end up paying double bubble, so 'hard cash' is probably a more appropriate description than card clash. The way it's presented is a little like an unfortunate venereal disease. Something that happens when you're careless. As opposed to a stupid design flaw in a system that's screwing you.

I noticed recently that Purina's Gourmet Perle is truly the cat's whiskers. The sachets of tasty morsels, much beloved of hungry felines, are branded either Chef's Collection or Connoiseur's Collection (sic). In the first instance, I'm wondering who exactly this lucky chef is. Oh, to be a fly on the wall in the Purina kitchen. (Not that there would be any flies on the wall, of course, in such a reputable establishment.) But I have images of Gordon Ramsay marshalling a team of staff. "What the f*** exactly is this s***? You think this is good enough for Kitty? This is Gourmet Perle we're talking about. If you think that's going in my collection, you've got another f***ing think coming!" When it comes to the Connoisseur, I'm thinking it's unfortunate that their high standards in matters culinary don't extend to spelling. But cats aren't known for their grasp of the 3Rs, I guess. Mmm... perhaps just a pinch more salt: ...

My work means that I stay in a fair number of hotels. All of them, pretty much without exception, will operate a breakfast buffet. Although there are very minor variations in the rules of the buffet between establishments, effectively the thing is a free-for-all. You're shown to your table and then immediately abandon it in search of food. (TV funnyman Michael McIntyre does an amusing routine about this phenomenon .) Before you're shown to your seat, however, it's quite common to be asked whether this particular hotel has previously had the pleasure of your company at le petit déjeuner. The desperate member of staff hopes that you will reply in the affirmative, as this relieves them of having to recite a speech in which they tell you that... err... basically the buffet is a free-for-all. As a guest, it's worth saying yes, even if you've never been to the place before. The recital often starts as follows: "We are operating a buffet breakfast today." ...

Interesting event at the London School of Economics last night, when Justin Webb, presenter of the Radio 4 Today programme, came to give a talk to the Alumni Media Group. As you'd expect from a man who's interviewed some of the world's top politicians and spent time covering both Europe and the US, he was full of amusing anecdotes and insights. He clearly fears for the future of serious journalism in an era of instant soundbites and is occupied about potential changes to the funding of the BBC. I asked him specifically about the dynastic nature of American politics and the prospects of a Hillary Clinton presidency in 2016. Interestingly, he wasn't even certain the former Secretary of State would run. And if she chooses not to, that certainly leaves the field wide open on the Democrat side.

You couldn't hope for a better slice of British life. An extraordinary snapshot of Stevenage more than forty years ago.

Over 60 and feeling 'under the weather'? You should visit your pharmacist. As soon as possible. Eh? So that you can buy some paracetamol? Or actually regale the person behind the counter with the story of how you developed your cold? Is there any statistical evidence to suggest that someone aged 62 with a sniffle is any more at risk than someone who's 55? And why the hell would we want to clog up pharmacists' counters with walking wounded? The people who are really at risk are probably 15 or 20 years older and they might struggle to make it to the pharmacy if they were poorly. They'd be better advised to call a GP out or summon an ambulance if things got bad. In what way is a pharmacist really a substitute for a doctor? And why on earth would we assume that any mild illness in someone aged 60+ is a cause for immediate concern?

An interesting selection of vintage posters is currently on display at Richmond station in south-west London. Perhaps advertising is hard to come by, but whatever the reason, we're grateful for the snapshot of life in days of yore. Talk me through it: buttons to open and shut doors need a lot of explanation If only they'd introduce buttons on the doors. It would make them easier to close. The new Winnersh Triangle emerges in 1986. Countless trains have disappeared there since.

Ground floor, perfumery, stationery and leather goods, wigs and haberdashery, kitchenware and food... going up You know you've made it when you have a lift built into your semi-detached house. Mrs W wonders what would happen if you got stuck between floors. Doesn't bear thinking about really. I'm not convinced it's an elevator at all. I think it's a shower. And if you can still shower together in your twilight years, it's really quite touching. Obviously, once you reach a certain age, you don't take your clothes off.

Someone on Facebook was telling me the other day that it costs £1,000 a week to keep someone in prison in the UK. It struck me that this is a very similar price to the bills often levied by some of the smarter residential nursing homes. Come to think of it, you'd probably pay the same amount for a hotel too. A grand is the going rate, wherever you want to stay. Travelling salesman? Confused nonagenerian? Mass murderer? One large please.

Wandering around Clas Ohlson before Christmas (via the pre-ordained route beloved of Scandinavian stores), I was struck by the truly bizarre smorgasbord of stuff they sell. One minute, it's stationery and household electricals. The next, it's... err... lifejackets. Lifejackets? Not just the odd one either. A whole wall of them. Tumbleweed billowing past the shelves, as nearby shoppers head off to find a Bosch ALB 18 LI Leaf Blower. It's difficult to imagine quite why Clas Ohlson anticipates this level of demand. And given that no one would ever suspect that they actually sold lifejackets anyway, who could possibly be buying? Is there casual passing trade? "Did you get the lever-arch files, darling?" "No, but I tell you what. I found something else to stop you drowning in paperwork." Sink or swim: Swedish retailer Clas Ohlson tries to corner the market in lifejackets in suburban London

I glanced this morning at an ad on the London Underground promoting the 'award-winning' Christian Connection dating website. The headline makes an astonishing claim, which must surely be causing consternation at the Advertising Standards Authority: 'God knew you would read this'. Of course, we're aware that the Lord moves in mysterious ways. But the fact that this extends to precision targeting of commuters in ambient advertising campaigns still comes as something of a shock. Let's take the message at face value for a moment.  God clearly has you on his radar and knows that you're a good Christian, who is seeking a like-minded partner. He's decided, in His wisdom, to sponsor a particular dating site - perhaps because of its award-winning credentials. But there's a problem. You don't know the site exists. This leaves God with only one option: advertising. He can guide you to the posters by getting you to sit in particular carriages. But the poster...

I have to admit that a generation has passed since I watched Eastenders regularly, but news of the arrival of cockney poster boy Danny Dyer at the Queen Vic certainly warmed my cockles. If a quick skip through BBC iPlayer is any guide, the former movie and reality TV star looks the part. But has anyone stopped to consider the significance and symbolism of his rebirth on prime time TV at Christmas time? The writers’ intentions couldn’t be clearer. An unstable Messiah figure has now taken up residence at the packed inn. In the coming days, I imagine Pearly Kings will journey to pay homage, perhaps heading to Walford East tube from as far afield as, say, up west. According to The Daily Star , Dyer is determined to use as much bewildering cockney rhyming slang during filming as he can. This makes absolute sense, as he will no doubt see the local manor as den of iniquity that has abandoned its true cockney roots. By installing himself as the guv’nor of the local battle cruiser, he’s in...

The Queen apparently doesn't like policemen pilfering her nuts . In fact, the ageing monarch has taken to marking her bowls at Buckingham Palace to ensure that none of the Royal Brazils go missing. One does sympathise, Your Majesty. When one's worked hard for everything one has, it must be galling to see it snatched away from one. Especially in times of austerity. Why, only the other day, Princess Michael was telling us just how bad things have got. "I love easyJet," she said. "It’s the only direct route to Biarritz." She actually said it. Those very words. Every satirist and would-be parody merchant might as well back their bags now. Game OVER.

News that bus drivers are to be trained to recognise the signs of dementia is obviously welcome. I suggest they start at their own depot, as my experience of their colleagues in London is that they seem completely unaware of their surroundings. This can lead to bizarre and unpredictable manoeuvres, as well as angry outbursts towards customers.

The judge in the Grillo fraud case didn't take kindly to David Cameron's intervention the other day in The Spectator on behalf of Nigella Lawson. He told the jury that they should ignore everything the British Prime Minister said. Don't you think this would be sound advice for the rest of us too?