TODAY I have some worrying news for you. The total reserves of helium on earth are expected to run out by 2040. And what have we been told about this? Not a squeak.

Let's put this in perspective, environmentally. That will mean no more shiny, jolly birthday balloons, no more science students making silly voice phone calls and no more Martianesque adverts for Cadbury's Smash. Who wants chocolate potato anyway?

Right, yesterday I reveqaled our vital helium supplies, essential to maintaining a vibtrant kiddies party sector, may be under threat.

And that the Goodyear blimp is not helping matters.

Quite recently some of the more easily disgusted newspapers carried a story to the effect that Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi accidentally found himself in bed with three young ladies, none of whom was wearing outdoor clothing.

This unfortunate confusion was described as a 'romp'. These things always are. In fact, nakedness would be better described as a romper rather than birthday suit. Very few people choose to celebrate their birthday with a little free-range naturism.

Take a short romantic hotel break, even with your wife, at this time of year and you are likely to feel you have walked onto the set of Deadwood.

For this is the wedding month when roads are choked with Rolls Royce products from an age when a bit of light freemasonry could make you a millionaire.

Sometime this week I wrote a line or two about a council white-lining a pothole, clearly an indication that moonscape Britain is here for some time yet.

Beat that, I thought. And guess what? Another council has.

OF late I have spent a lot of time hanging around hospital car parks, although I have assured the police I will not do so again.

Sitting in the car park has advantages over the nice pink waiting room at my nearest outpatients with muzak by the gastric band and legions of people whose job would appear to be best described as 'walking around.'

AS the cliche would have it, the first seven years of marriage can feel like a lifetime. Which cannot be said of some car warranties.

You could see an air burst coming over this one when Toyota offered a five year warranty, because it makes such reliable products, of course, not in an attempt to boost confidence after having more recalls than Doris Stokes.

LAST week it was announced that our children have become so fat that Marks & Spencer is being forced to make school uniforms so large whole families of displaced flood victims have been found camping in them.

Hardly surprising in a world where lasagne is considered a suitable sandwich filling and a Manchester chip shop celebrated a festival of local produce by deep frying Eccles cakes. Imagine a bar of lard filled with dried bluebottles. Yep, you're there.

BOFFINS, British ones at that, have created a car that runs on methane harvested from human waste.

Named the Bio-Bug it obviously had to be a VW Beetle and the waste from just 70 homes is enough to run the car for 10,000 miles. That's a year's motoring and not to be sniffed at.

Look, I know the speed cameras ate my hamster story broke last week but I just thought I would hang fire to see if the predicted end of civilisation as David Attenborough knows it came about.

So far there has been no burning orb of fire, birds have not fallen from the sky and, pleasing as the idea is, council lackeys are not abroad the land scattering rose petals on passing motorists by way of an apology for years of abuse which would rival the maltreatment of a game keeper's terrier.