BLUE Peter for grown-ups - now there's a thought. Grey Peter, perhaps. As long as it's not on late night Channel 4 where it would be really Blue - the mind boggles with what they would do with sticky-backed plastic and some cocktail sticks...

But John Noakes ("Get down Shep") and Peter Purves, presenters of the programme in the 1960s with Valerie Singleton, are said to be thinking about a new version of the old favourite.

"When we did it first time round, we gave ideas to a lot of bored children," says Noakes, 66. "Now I see a lot of middle-aged people retiring early who don't know how to fill the time."

Could it be stunts like bungee jumping for pensioners? Or will it be building your own Zimmer fame out of old washing-up bottles and yoghurt pots? There'll have to be talent spot, of course, 80-year-old unicyclists or menopausal Morris dancers. And the Blue Peter Garden could be transformed into a wine bar. "Here's one I poured earlier."

First Thunderbirds are revived, then Bill and Ben - still taking no notice of Little Weed - and now Blue Peter. How can we possibly grow old when we are still surrounded by our childhoods? Sounds wonderful

It is, actually, a good idea. Theoretically, over-50s have all this time, money and leisure. The first generation to be in that privileged position. And Blue Peter was always very good at making you think that all things were possible, that the world was an adventure that we could all share in.

Mmmmm.

Blue Peter was also, I seem to recall, unbearably smug and middle class. Even when faced with incontinent elephants (oh joy), there was an air of relentless cheerfulness. Yes, I know the Blue Peter appeals were amazingly successful and achieved a lot of good things. Yes, I know they encouraged children to look beyond themselves and their own worlds. Yes, I know everything about it was good and cheerful and positive.

That's precisely why sometimes we yearned for a bit of anarchy and a few more elephants. I guess we rebels will have to make do with Bill and Ben. Flobabadob.

A PAIR of Australian madams managed to persuade English businessmen to invest a couple of million pounds into a bogus business.

The women - who used to run a massage parlour in Melbourne - did this by travelling to race meetings in limos and Rolls-Royces and promising to sponsor the Royal Windsor Horse Show, which got them passes to the Royal Box. Possible punters were instantly dazzled and impressed.

Britain is increasingly described as a classless society. Tosh. As those canny madams knew quite well - we're just as snobbish and easily impressed as ever.

THERE is such a shortage of teachers that lessons can't be covered and some schools are going onto a four-day week.

What's new?

Even in my high-achieving grammar school in the 1960s, there were never enough teachers. They never sent us home, though - just put four or five classes into the assembly hall under the supervision of one poor teacher who'd drawn the short straw.

Fun for us. But for the young teachers faced with around 150 bored teenage girls, it was, shall we say, character-building...

A BANANA is still a banana whether we buy them by the pound or the kilo. And though pounds are familiar, surely we are not witless enough that we cannot convert to kilos? Money, weights and measures are constantly changing. Always have and always will. If you don't agree, then have you got change for a groat?

TAXI driver Trevor Whiteley carried on spending a fiver a week on lottery tickets even when he'd had to give up work and live on benefits because he'd dreamt he would win. And he did. £6m.

Well, we've all dreamt we would win, haven't we?

That's why we're still dreaming and Camelot makes a fortune.

VALENTINE Teres-hkova, Russia's first woman in space, was chosen not because of her skill, her scientific knowledge, her intelligence or experience.

No. She was chosen because Khruschev wanted a typical Russian beauty who would look good in the pictures going all round the world. No, it didn't surprise me, either. So girls, if you're auditioning for the space race, don't forget your lippy.