There was a report on the radio this morning revealing the alarming statistic that children who spend more time watching television are more likely to become obese during adulthood. Not particularly surprising, is it, that kids who barely move from the same position all weekend because of an unhealthy obsession with Nickelodeon will turn out to be, well, unhealthy.

I had quite an active childhood. Lots of bike-riding, playing cricket in the summer, exploring labyrinthine local housing estates and subsequently constructing badly drawn maps of them (yes, I know, yes, well I don't know, yes, I know I was, I'm sorry.) You wouldn't have thought that concern about sloth-like lifestyles would have kicked in yet with Thatcher's government, but I do remember, when I changed schools at 13, having to complete an activity diary for 1 month. The night before it had to be handed in to our form teacher I realised that I'd failed to complete this diary for the previous 3 weeks, so in the hours before I went to bed I hastily re-constructed my life during that time. I started off quite well, inventing various activities such as “throwing an American football backwards and forwards with Ed (20 mins)” or “Wishing I was brave enough to climb a tree down Green Lanes like my other friends do (12 mins)” but after completing 3 days worth – which took me about an hour – it was clear I had to speed things up a bit. So as my handwriting became more scrawled and illegible, I started writing “School until 3.45 – Home 4.30 – Tea 5.30 – TV 6 till 10 – Bed.”

I finally managed to get this diary finished on the way to school the next day, and handed it in. The next day, my mother received a call from the head of year at my school. “Mrs Marsden? Hello, it's Mrs Hayhurst here at Manshead Upper School. There's nothing to worry about, but we're calling regarding your son. We're rather concerned here about the amount of television he appears to be watching in the evening.” My mother harrumphed slightly, knowing full well that the reason they had deduced this was down to a hurriedly scribbled and largely made-up diary I'd completed under duress the previous night. “I think you'll find,” she said, “that when Rhodri says 'TV', this actually covers a multitude of various activities.” My mother, there, getting me off the hook. My approach to keeping an activity diary has swung alarmingly from a two letter summing up – TV – to a daily blathering of several hundred words detailing minutiae that would have surely caused Mrs Hayhurst a raised eyebrow or two. If you're reading, Miss, I hope you're proud of me. I'm still overweight, though.