Anne Sebba writes in “Les Parisiennes: How the Women of Paris Lived, Loved, and Died Under Nazi Occupation” (2016) that she felt justified in using the term “Parisienne” to describe Parisian women imprisoned in camps after learning that one of them repurposed the ounce of fat that she was rationed each day as moisturizer for her hands, “concluding that these needed preserving more than her stomach.”

Extinction Rebellion is an organisation whose ends I endorse, but whose means I find unpleasantly confrontational. Here are some hints for them:
1. If you’re going to say something revolutionary, say it in a suit.
2. If you’re waging war on plastic, don’t camp out in plastic tents. It sort of negates your message.
3. I admire your really slick website. I’m impressed you are campaigning in more than 60 cities “from Paris to Berlin, and all the way round the world including Los Angeles, Santiago, Washington DC, New York, Montreal, Buenos Aires, Dublin, Madrid, London, Amsterdam, Prague, Vienna, Cape Town, New Delhi, Mumbai, Adelaide, Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane, Perth and Wellington.” I can’t see Beijing or Hong Kong on that list, and isn’t China the world’s most polluting economy? What about Tokyo? Seoul? Bangkok? Does East Asia get a free ride? How about Brazil and the Amazon rainforest?
4. If you have a plan, at least make it attainable. For us to be carbon neutral by 2025 isn’t going to happen without an unacceptable level of death, pain and suffering. Set a goal you can actually achieve.
5. The elephant in the room which no one dares address is that there are simply far too many human beings on this planet. When my grandfather was born the world population was about 1.2 billion. Now it’s 7.7 billion. Unsustainable.

The airlock hissed. Evans cleared her throat. No one left and no one came to the bare planet. Welcome to Mars. ‘Someone’s got to do it,’ she thought and hauled herself out of the bodyform seat. She entered into her suit and climbed into the airlock. It took 30 seconds for the pressure to equalise. Outside it was -40°. She opened the hatch and stepped out. ‘That’s one small step for a woman,’ she muttered.

In the distance she heard a dog barking.

The call came from 01450 4535455; Hawick, Scotland, a hotbed of Scottish rugby. Obviously it was some Scottish rugby fan wanting to compare Scotland and Wales’s chances in the forthcoming Rugby World Cup.

There was a pause, a click, and a voice which sounded as if it were more from Hyderabad than Hawick came on the line.

“cHello? cHello? cHow are you today?”

Me: “I’m fine, thank you for asking. How are you?”

Him: “I am calling from Microsoft. There has been a problem with your computer which is infecting the internet. I can cHelp you fix it.”

Me: “That’s very kind.”

Him: “Are you sitting in front of your computer? Is it on? What can you see on the screen?”

I covered up the large JPEG of Fifi L’Amour’s splendiferous assets and said “Nothing.”

He wanted me to press my Command key, my Control key, he wanted me to click on my Magnifying glass and much other stuff, and I asked him why.

Him: “So I can fix the fault wit your computair.’

Me: “But won’t that give you access to my computer?”

Him: “Yess, you see I am from Microsoft and …”

I stopped him there. “I don’t think for a moment you are from Microsoft. I think you are a thief and a scammer. Does your Mummy know what you are doing for a living? Do you think she would be proud of you? Does Microsoft have offices in Hoick [that’s how you pronounce Hawick]? Where are you calling from?”

He started to bluster. “I am from Microsoft and your computer is infecting the internet!”

“No you are not and it’s not,” I said. “You are part of some cheap criminal gang making a pathetically amateur attempt to wrest control of my computer for some nefarious purpose of which I know nothing and care less.”

“Oh, you very clever man! Long words! You know everything! You know history? We will make you pay!”

It’s nice to get a reaction from a scammer. I asked him how the weather was in Hawick.

“Oh, you think you so clever! You wait, we will make you pay every day! You know history? Two, three hundred years? You come to us, you take everything, now you pay! You pay every day!”

The conversation seemed set on this course, and he was beginning to froth at the mouth — I swear I could hear the spittle from 5,000 miles away. I wanted to make him hang up first, but I was quite enjoying goading him. I questioned his parentage, his education, his morals, his ethics, and with every word I spoke his apoplexy redoubled. The Microsoft contract was probably lost at this point, because in his fury all he wanted to do was insult me for being English (I’m not, of course).

“You think you’re so great, you think you’re so clever, you know history, you smart man, well we will get you, we will make you pay for what you done to us!”

He was raging now, shouting down the line.

“Well I’m not sure about that,” I said mildly, “but the indisputable fact is that you are a crook, a cheat, a liar, a scammer, an evil person and you will end up in jail. And your Mummy probably won’t come to visit you.”

“I have to take another call,” he said abruptly, and hung up.

The problem is that I am getting older and more gullible, and the scammers will inevitably get younger and smarter. For the moment I can hold my own, but the time will surely come when they will penetrate my fragile defences.

The next call came 17 minutes later, from 0865 069 7428, United Kingdom. It was Mr Microsoft again, and this time he launched straight into a tirade about the English, the shits of the world and how they would pay every day for what they’d done. He never specified what they’d done, just conquered India, I guess, but he was much exercised by it. He was packed like a bursting bladder full of vituperation and bile, and it was helplessly erupting out of him. Such hatred. Such loathing. I put the phone on the desk until it whimpered away to a plaintive “cHello? cHello?”

“Hello again!” I said cheerily, and he put the phone down on me.

He couldn’t stay away. 25 minutes later he rang again, this time from 066 1889 7589, also United Kingdom. It was the same old same old, and by now I was bored with him, so It was my turn to hang up, after wishing him much luck with his Microsoft career.

What do these people hope to achieve? None of these telephone numbers are genuine. Why have RnZpazJtbKyB and oHhSELWUcBzV and other similar names been attempting to sign up to fotoLibra every ten minutes for the last six days? What is the point? Why does BT Openreach regularly call me from the USA about cancelling my internet access within 12 hours? Especially when I don’t use BT Openreach?

Or Microsoft, for that matter.

What a phenomenal day of sport yesterday was! The World Cup Final was the closest cricket match I’ve ever seen, and as my new friend Kim Griggs from Radio New Zealand commented, ‘a thrilling match. Kind of won by NZers if you take into account that Ben Stokes is a Kiwi.’
The Wimbledon Men’s Singles Final was probably the most tension-drenched, riveting tennis match I’ve ever seen. After 4 hours and 57 minutes we still didn’t know who would be the winner. What astounding players Federer and Djokovic are.
The only sporting event that wasn’t even close yesterday was Lewis Hamilton winning the British Grand Prix by 21 seconds and setting the fastest lap on his final lap.
Dazed by sporting magnificence, I was. Hamilton has now won the British GP six times. That’s the first Cricket World Cup England has ever won. And the combined age of the tennis champions is 69.
Novak Djokovic received £2,350,000 for his 4 hours and 58 minutes work. Simone Halep received £2,350,000 for her 55 minutes work. Just saying.
But of course this is just a preface to the important announcement. You’re all gagging to know, so I can reveal that this year’s Wimbledum Champion is … DENNIS NOVAK from Austria!
Dennis Novak was beaten by Marton Fuksovics, who was beaten by Fabio Fognini, who was beaten by Tennys Sandgren (ideal name), who was beaten by Sam Querry, who was beaten by Rafael Nadal, who was beaten by Roger Federer, who was beaten by Novak Djokovic, who is known as Bembo in Mount View Road for the startling resemblance of his hair to our family cat.
Dennis Novak came Bottom of Wimbledon, every victor above him vanquished. So a Novak came top and bottom of Wimbledon.

Every year I announce the Wimbledum and Wimbledee Champions, having a deep and abiding interest in losers like Donald Trump.

Tomorrow we’ll see the men’s Wimbledum Champ, but today it’s the turn of Wimbledee. And it goes to:

SORANA CIRSTEA of Romania!!

Sorana was beaten by Amanda Anisimova, who was beaten by Magda Linette, who was beaten by Petra Kvitova, who was beaten by Johanna Konta, who was beaten by Barbora Strycova, who was beaten by Serena Williams, who was beaten by Simone Halep — of Romania! So there was some justice for her compatriot.

Cirstea came Bottom of Wimbledon, every victor above her vanquished.

Seriously, if you’re in London tomorrow and you have an hour or two to spare drop EVERYTHING and get yo’ ass down to Sotheby’s, 34-35 New Bond Street, London W1A 2AA where you will see probably the finest free art exhibition in your LIFE.

They’ve got some major sales coming up, and they are exhibiting the paintings. Tomnorrow is the last day. I can’t begin to tell you how magnificent they are. They also (which is fascinating) give the guide prices for them. There are works by Moholy-Nagy, Arp, Duchamp, Dubuffet, Buffet, Utrillo, Grosz, Matisse, Picasso, Klimt, Kokoshka, Magritte, Riley, Moore, Schiele, Man Ray, Renoir, Monet, Pissarro, Richter, Miro, Emin, Saville, Kandinsky. Klee, Schlemmer, Dali, Schwitters and many, many more. There are six paintings by Utrillo, whom I adore, the cheapest of which was estimated to fetch £30,000, which is a little out of my league.

The star of the show could be said to be Monet’s Palazzo Ducale, a numinous work which made my catch my breath. I caught it a second time when I saw the estimated guide price of £30 million. It’s a stunning picture, but oh, please, Claude — get yo’ fenestration together! Look at the windows on the right! Is that what he really saw, or did he simply lose interest? For £30 mill I’d expect an accurate perspective at the very least. If the new owners get in touch with me after the sale I’d be happy to paint in the corrections for them.

Last June Ryanair cancelled our flight home from Palermo without warning. They put us up in a horrible hotel 90 minutes from the airport, and laid on a replacement flight the following morning.

In August I read an article which said that compensation for a flight cancellation was guaranteed by an EU directive, European Passenger Rights Regulation EC 261/04.

Ryanair had forgotten to mention this to us.

So we wrote to Ryanair requesting compensation.

They didn’t reply.

So we wrote again in September.

They didn’t reply.

So we wrote again in October.

They didn’t reply.

So we wrote again in November.

They didn’t reply.

So we complained to Aviation Alternative Dispute Resolution, and today we received a payment of £707.52 from Ryanair (€800). Thank you to Aviation ADR, which charged us nothing for extracting our money from Ryanair, and no thanks to Ryanair, which failed miserably in its attempt to unlawfully deprive us of our entitled compensation.

Yah boo sucks.

I wonder if the European Passenger Rights Regulation EC 261/04 will still apply to Brits once we leave the EU?

Some people just get on with it. No fuss, no complaints, no whingeing about rights or unfairness, no perceived offences. Just do it. It’s a tough world, and it wasn’t made for you alone.

Evelyn Berezin was like that. She was a woman in the world of technology when it was populated almost exclusively by men. She was a woman in the world of business when women in business were assumed to be secretaries. She didn’t moan or cavil. She got on with it.

The list of firsts she originated were a match for anyone’s achievements in business and technology, male or female. I wrote about them in this blog Why Is This Woman Not Famous?  eight years ago.

Astonishingly she read my blog and responded, so we met up. Von and I, with our friends Mike Shatzkin and Martha Moran, took her to dinner at 10 Downing Street. She was bright as a button. She told us how as the only female physics student at Hunter College in the 1940s the boys all used to follow her home. And we weren’t surprised. Later Evelyn started and ran the Redactron Corporation, makers of the world’s first computer chip which they designed and shipped in September 1971 — Intel didn’t sell their first chip till November 1971.

What an amazing woman. As I had the only surviving Redactron computer, she persuaded me to donate it to the Computer History Museum in Mountain View, California. Four men in white coats and gloves came and reverently carted it away. I wrote about it here: Goodbye Old Friend.

She died in Manhattan last Saturday, aged 93. A good innings. Damien Gaillard, fotoLibra’s TDM, spotted her obituary in the New York Times, as did Bill Kay, who has penned one or two obits himself for The Times. Here it is, and I was flattered to see they referenced my original blog post.

Goodbye old friend. I scarcely knew you, but I was honoured to make the acquaintance of a great woman.

PS: In case you think we only mingle with the great and the good, it’s true, we do — but the 10 Downing Street where we had dinner with Evelyn was a cacophonous restaurant in Manhattan, not in Westminster.