WE FLY at dawn. Yes, Italy, seeing as you've asked. Villa with a pool, on the coast south of Genoa.

Being a middle-aged, middleclass white man who couldn't possibly be a terrorist threat, I'm anticipating the full monty at airport security so I'll be wearing new underpants and hole-free socks. I'm also told that every thing of any value will be taken from me at the checkpoint, including make-up and my cigarette lighter, but that I can replenish all supplies from approved duty free shops. Hmm.

How convenient.

Now obviously I don't want to hurtle to earth in a ball of flames, but are we not overdoing the possible weapon thing? I ask because I went to a football match on Saturday and had my newspaper confiscated on the way in. The reason? It was apparently a potential weapon.

Now I don't know about you, but if half a dozen hard core hooligans are coming at me across the terraces, I'd want something a bit more substantial than a damp copy of the Daily Star to defend myself with. But still, I can remember the Sixties when for a while you had to remove your boots before they'd let you into a football ground.

That was really fun, particularly given the primitive toilet arrangements that encouraged a rather liberal attitude to public urination.

NOT A week passes without another dose of confusing health advice. One day a cup of tea too many will kill you; the next you're being encouraged to chew teabags to ward off cancer.

Now it's the turn of cider. Yes, folks, a glass of cider a day apparently keeps the Grim Reaper away, although this research from Glasgow University hits an immediate stumbling block. I mean, how many 80-yearold Scottish tramps have you ever seen? They've usually popped their clogs (or their shoes stuffed with newspaper) long before their 50s.

And what if it turns out to be true? That will mean that all those feral children you see hanging around outside the off licence drinking White Lighting from twolitre plastic bottles will be a burden on the State for another 70 years. Pass the scrumpy, quick.

THE recent controversy about Tom and Jerry set me wondering about other cartoon clichs. I mean, when did you last see a dog running out of a butcher's shop dragging a string of sausages?

In fact, when did you last see a string of sausages, now that we're all buying pre-packed supermarket rubbish?