DEREK JAMESON

The guide books tend to write it off as dull and uninteresting. Those of us who come under its spell prefer to call it a haven of old world charm.

Life is leisurely, they still know the meaning of courtesy and - surprise, surprise - the weather really does seem kinder than elsewhere along the coast.

Gingertop Chris Evans is the latest to extol the town's virtues after a bank holiday visit with umpteen thousand other trippers.

Janet Street Porter, the lady with the teeth, is another fan.

Idevoted so much time to the resort on my Radio 2 breakfast show that the town named me Mr Worthing in 1988 and presented me with a silver salver that hangs on my wall to this day.

Coming out of the mayor's parlour clutching my trophy, I got a ticket for illegal parking and was fined 14 quid.

That's Worthing. No airs or graces.

Similarly, Tom Lamond, of The Tasty Plaice in Rowlands Road, achieved some fame when I said he cooked the best fish and chips on the South Coast.

Istill had to queue with the rest. Quite right too.

What makes Worthing so special?

How does a sleepy little resort manage to compete successfully with its more manic cousins, Brighton and Hove, ten miles down the road?

Perhaps it's a glimpse of a world fading so fast that we want to make the most of it before it disappears forever.

Someone described Worthing to me derisively as Geriatrica-on-Sea.

Isee nothing strange about retired folk looking for a bit of peace and quiet in their twilight years.

When I moved my old mum out of Hackney after 70-odd years, she had only one comment to make - bloody good riddance!

But she loved her enchanted cottage in Worthing, two minutes from the shops and sea.

She felt safe there. Mum died a few years ago but I still visit my stepfather every week in the cottage.

An ancient Ward Lock guide book in my library says sunny Worthing, on the Sussex Riviera 'twixt sea and Downs, appeals to those in search of a genial and invigorating climate, pleasing attractions "and an absence of undue traffic and noise".

Worthing was said to be much favoured by the retired classes, "especially Anglo-Indians and those seeking a warm climate after years in the tropics".

The country may be richer and more sophisticated but Worthing has somehow managed to avoid the hustle and bustle of modern life.

It's a stress-free zone - and that's a holiday attraction money cannot buy.

IS THIS TURIN SHROUD IN ITS TRUE COLOURS?

ART certainly knows no boundaries. Visiting a Hove basement at the weekend, I inspected some fascinating colour images created by Norma C. Weller, a local artist, to persuade us that the Shroud of Turin is genuine.

Norma, who lectures on the uses of colour in art, has applied a new 3D-colour intensification technique to the image of Christ imprinted on the mysterious shroud, preserved for centuries in Turin Cathedral.

Although venerated as the cloth in which Christ was buried, scholars have argued for years over its authenticity.

"I do believe absolutely in the shroud," Norma told me. "I'm pretty certain that the image of Jesus is a negative created by a burst of energy from the body in the tomb."

One of Norma's major discoveries is that a wreath of myrtle adorns the head in the shroud, and not, as was thought, a crown of thorns.

Norma's findings remain on display at Ikon Gallery, Fourth Avenue, Hove, from 2-5pm on May 15-16 and 22-23.

PLENTY FOR YOU HERE, JORDAN

WELL, well, well. It turns out Brighton's very own Jordan ditched her boyfriend, Ace the Gladiator, because she was hooked on motor racing driver Ralf Schumacher, brother of the more famous Michael.

The sad twist to the tale, according to the News of The World, is that the German couldn't get up to speed on the starting grid. He cuddled up to Jordan in his Monaco flat - and fell asleep. What's more, it happened four nights in a row.

Apparently, the 20-year-old model is still trying to sort out Michael's ignition problem.

Come home to Brighton, Jordan, that's my advice. There's no shortage of red-blooded young men hereabouts eager to succeed where your German mein Herr has failed, if that's not racist. Even Ace would like to give it another go.

Sort yourself out, girl. First you have your boobs enlarged, the most unnecessary operation in medical history, and then you upset half the male population by saying no to more Page 3 specials. Now this Schumacher bloke. Time to cool it, Miss Katie Price.

DID WE REALLY KNOW JILL?

AS each day passes, I fear the dreadful murder of Jill Dando two weeks ago is taking on a more sinister aspect, suggesting there is much we don't know about her private life.

Police now say they think she knew her killer. There is talk of love diaries and rows with ex-boyfriends. Whatever the answer, let's hope they get a breakthrough.

The big question is how the killer knew she would be at her house at that time. It was up for sale and she was living with her fiance, gynaecologist Alan Farthing. She went home infrequently.

To be honest, my feeling is that a stalker was responsible. I felt uneasy about those publicity shots of her clad head to toe in black leather which appeared everywhere days before her murder.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.