The Curmudgeon

For instance, in recent weeks, "experts" have proved that passive smoking does not cause lung cancer and another set have told us that vitamin pills are not only not good for us but can actually make us ill if we overdose.

The former means that you can't smoke indoors virtually anywhere in the USA and the latter has caused total panic in Britain's health food industry because millions of pounds are at stake.

At Curmudgeon Corner, we gave up smoking long since - couldn't afford it - and now we have tossed the vitamin pills into the bin, which will save us a few more bob every month. If we fall ill through vitamin deficiency next week, who shall we sue?

Experts expect us to believe what they say - "Trust me, I'm an expert." But, ironically, another bunch of university sociologists with nowt better to do with public money have now done a survey on trust itself.

And they have "proved" - if you can believe them - that trust is a pretty rare commodity on this sceptred isle of ours.

In fact, we Brits are third from the bottom of the list of all European countries when it comes to trusting each other with - if I have got this right - only a quarter of us placing our faith in others. It used to be almost all of us, 50 years ago - but how you prove that I have no idea.

Now we Beggarsdalians would no doubt have dismissed this piece of arcane gobbledygook as the usual expert nonsense except, at present, the quality of trust is pretty strained in the village just now.

For, try as we may, we can't get a straight answer from the council as to the mysterious carryings on at the long disused Beggarsdale quarry, where a team of surveyors were spotted at work at the suspiciously early hour of 6am a few weeks back.

At first, we thought they might looking over the place for possible housing. But now the rumour going round is that it is being earmarked as a landfill site for urban waste - in other words, a giant tip right in the heart of the village.

Now, I accept that our horror of such a plan could make us all look like Nimbys, the "not in my backyard" set.

But there is only one proper road in and out of the village, and the quarry is surrounded by private housing, so we are talking here about the potential demise of a living community: who would want to live with hundreds of stinking lorries roaring up and down The Lane all day, not to mention the problems of flies, rats and potential disease?

Despite these genuine fears, we can't get a word of sense out of the council. Dozens of phone calls have led nowhere: he's in a meeting, he's out on site, he's on annual leave, we have been told.

The receipt of the parish council's angry letter was formally acknowledged after ten days and a full explanation promised "when the situation has been properly explored." As to when that will be, we haven't a clue.

That wonderful thing "trust" seems to be totally absent. Can we trust the Government, which, we believe, has quietly asked local authorities to find more in-fill sites? If that is true, can we trust the council to fight for our interests? Can we trust anyone at all to tell us the truth about what really is going on?

Perhaps, this time, the experts have got it right. Trust really is dead. RIP.

* The Curmudgeon is a satirical column based on fictitious characters in a mythical village.