People across the world have nervously and understandably been glued to their televisions this week to follow the steadily unfolding horrors in Ukraine.
We live in an amazing time of globally interconnected satellite and broadband communications which allow the best, and worst, aspects of our planet to be seen in real-time in our living rooms.
Over the past couple of Covid-dominated years, most of us have become comfortably familiar with video calling. Almost all of us have taken part at some stage, even those who previously thought Zoom was an ice lolly, Google Meet was some kind of internet butcher and an online conversation meant an idiot shouting into their phone and declaring: “I’m on the train”.
Most of us would have struggled to survive lockdown loneliness without a virtual chat with family and friends. It has caused considerable discomfort, however, when our webcams allow others to have a peek into our homes and lives from which they would usually be excluded.
Stories abound about having to tidy the spare bedroom or kitchen and turn it into an impromptu office, or about being caught wearing pyjamas for a 10am conference which you thought was voice only but turned out to be in vision after the meeting chairman unexpectedly decided that webcams should be switched on to ensure that no one was munching their muesli when they should instead have been concentrating on the boring agenda.
Broadcasters have benefited from this instant electronic access to spokespersons of all kinds, allowing them to offer their unique perspectives on all manner of topics.
It seems, however, that there’s one thing they must have before taking part, and that is an impressive bookcase behind them. Some are bigger than others, as always, but while size isn’t everything, all aim to convey the impression that the speaker is both erudite and intelligent.
Trying to read the titles on the books’ spines behind them has become a fascination. It’s hard, so savvy politicians, academics or former armed forces personnel ensure books they’ve written or admire are carefully placed face-on to the camera, alongside random memorabilia, awards or photographs.
I’d love to spot an Enid Blyton collection or copy of the Beano annual on the shelf behind some retired general or senior politician but have yet to do so.
I’m told even the previous US president had a commendably comprehensive book collection, although he hadn’t had time to colour them all in.
But while you might think that there is only one topic in the news at the moment, there’s apparently room for a disagreement of an altogether more benign nature, albeit argued with passion.
It concerns the origins of the pie roll.
This dubious delicacy involves inserting a whole Scotch pie in a roll then wolfing the lot, probably giving nutrition experts the willies.
The debate was sparked by Nairn County FC who introduced the crazy combo to hungry fans at Station Park. This generated an instant response from Ally Haggart, former roadie to Aberdeen band the Bash Street Kids, who laid claim to its creation in the 1970s.
Now, this week, the debate took another turn when Aberdeen resident William Morgan claimed in a note to the P&J that it was originally the “Glasgow Oyster” and could be traced back to the 1960s.
Mr Morgan added that to his knowledge it was usually eaten with a squirt of red or brown sauce, the choice of which alone could lead to permanent breakdowns in personal relationships.
It makes the constant arguments over the hotly contested presence of pineapple on a pizza seem trivial.
Scotland has been here before, though. When a Stonehaven chipper claimed to have created the deep-fried Mars bar, counter-claims soon emerged from Banff and even Buckie.
Its exact origins will never be known, although why anyone would want to admit to its conception anyway is beyond me.
It’s a lighter moment in otherwise difficult and dangerous times, however.
Actor, filmmaker and writer Peter Ustinov said that if the world should blow itself up, the last audible voice would be that of an expert saying it can’t be done.
No doubt they would be sitting in front of an impressive-looking bookcase at the time.
And speaking of last voices, the time has come for me to bid you farewell as Mrs F and I head off into the sunset in our campervan to enjoy our retirement.
We’ve had quite the journey already, but I can’t wait to see what the next chapter has in store for us.
Every best wish to you all from Fyne Place.