NOW I've heard it all. A protester sitting beneath a tree to save it from the chainsaws was asked if he was going to climb the tree to occupy it like Coronation Street's eco-warrior Emily Bishop.

His limp reply was that he was 45 years old and could not climb a tree anymore. What a wimp.

As this lamentable cop-out was stated in a radio interview, I have no idea whether he was an over-large chap or had a limb missing. But his excuse was age.

He condemned himself, at a mere 45, to the disability of advancing years.

What an inspiration to the unfit, young couch-potatoes we've been hearing about lately, where school outfitters have to buy in pupils' skirts with a 44in waist or big girl's blouses with 46in chests.

What a disappointment to the octogenarians who act like mountain goats, sing and dance into the night and push back the frontiers of world exploration.

There's acting your age and there's enjoying life to the full.

No one wants to see gran and gramps in hot pants, nose jewellery and clip-on pony tails giving it large down the disco. But most old folk will not be imprisoned by the years so that their only parole of the week is to limp down to the local post office (if they've still got one) to pick up the pension.

They'd sooner scare the living daylights out of their offspring by blowing the inheritance on world cruises, trekking the Himalayas and dabbling with toyboys.

When she was nearly 80, my dear old mum would skip down the garden, jump on to a bench and hop over the wall to check on her next-door neighbour. My crazy brother, who retired from teaching years ago, likes a daily game of golf, a 50-mile bike ride and a few miles on the roller blades for good measure.

After a triple heart bypass operation, my 80-year-old father-in-law is now back to his daily trek on the mountains of the Lake District so he can work up an appetite for a cream tea; and though I left 45 behind years ago, the other week I was up a ladder trimming the tops off a long row of 20ft-tall conifers.

A colleague bumped into a couple on a day trip to Scotland last week as the couple took a break from a hefty bike ride. They explained they were also keen long-distance cyclists, well, they had to be to keep fit because they were aged 90 and 95. My colleague's mouth fell agape because she was convinced they were in their early 60s.

So what's up with the youngsters in their 40s these days?

Is it the age of the motor car, or the luxury of excesses that is rendering them - and the generations coming up behind them - unable to walk to the end of the street without having to sit down to get their breath back?

And how come, if most people are cocooned in too many layers of flesh, the fashion industry is still peddling the image of six-footer, stick-insect girl models with that funny cross-over catwalk waddle?

I reckon mankind is heading for a drastic body change in centuries to come. It will be a sort of use-it or lose-it situation.

Remember that evil, dastardly Mekon who was always giving Dan Dare a hard time - and frightening me witless - in The Eagle comic? I seem to recall that the Venusian supreme scientist used to think a lot but never exercised, so he developed a huge head and such a wasted, little body he had to float around on a mind-controlled, anti-gravity seat.

That's what will happen to earthlings if we are not careful and it will really hit the fashion industry with all that demand for tiny clothes and massive hats.

Updated: 08:54 Tuesday, October 05, 2004