FROM his chair in Monday’s paper, the editor used the phrase “Smart Alec”. But why, he wondered, is it Alec who gets all the plaudits for his smartness and not, say, a Peter or even a Christopher. So, knowing I’m a cleverdick, he asked me about Alec.

The origins appear to lie with George Wilkes, a crime journalist in New York who, in 1844, was sent to prison for 30 days for printing a libel. He spent his time inside profitably, interviewing fellow convicts, one of whom was Alec Hoag.

Alec was a thief and his wife, Melinda, a prostitute. She would entice her clients into a dark alleyway where she would rifle their pockets while robustly entertaining them. She would hand the items to Alec, who was hidden in the doorway, and he would make off with them while Melinda gave the victim a passionate embrace.

The police got wind of the dishonesty, but Alec smartly bought them off by sharing the spoils with a couple of corrupt cops.

Entrepreneurial Alec’s modus operandi evolved until Melinda was enticing the victim back to her bedroom in which there was a luxury four-poster bed.

She helped him strip, folded his clothes on a chair, and took him inside the bed, pulling the curtains to make the occasion that little bit more intimate. Then she noisily set to work. The sound of her amorous pursuits alerted Alec that the trap was set.

However, clients knew that they were at their most vulnerable when they were naked, and so would barricade the door of the boudoir to prevent anyone entering while they were in the throes of passion.

Smart Alec, though, had a secret passageway through which he gained access to the bedroom. Hidden by the curtain, he would take everything of value from the clothes, and exit via the passage.

Then he would go to the bedroom door and, pretending to be Melinda’s innocent husband, would angrily rattle on the handle and demand to know what was going on.

Melinda would tell the victim they’d been caught in flagrante delicto, and advise them to flee through the window before her husband - notorious for his temper – caught them.

The victim then legged it with his clothes under his arms, too hassled to notice he’d been robbed.

Business boomed. But Alec didn’t tell the cops - and only paid them as if it were still a dark alleyway enterprise. Of course, they soon started receiving complaints about the boudoir antics and they realised that Alec was duping them as much as he was duping Melinda’s clients.

So, bob’s your uncle: Alec, too clever for his own good, was thrown into jail. Of course, there are some who dispute this origin of Smart Alec, but they are Doubting Thomases.

I LIKE a good railway anniversary, so I was delighted on Wednesday night when BBC2’s Newsnight included a story about the centenary of a railway bridge at Durham.

The 100-year-old bridge has clearance of 11ft eight inches which is several inches lower than modern lorries, which are frequently unroofed like a tin of sardines as they try to squeeze under. In 2008, Jurgen Henn, who lives next to the bridge, rigged up a camera and filmed each unroofing, which he puts on his website, 11foot8.com. At Christmas, the bridge reached its centenary when the 100th truck was recorded being peeled open.

Unfortunately, the bridge is in Durham, North Carolina, but even those in County Durham, England, might enjoy a few seconds of lorry lunacy on the website.