FORGET THE X-BOX - GET OUT AND PLAY

I AM all nostalgic about Easter and childhood. Back in the Sixties we used to paint our boiled eggs into fancy Fabergé masterpieces and take them round our neighbours for inspection and praise.

We would run outside and roll them down a hill, then eat the smelly green yolk and our hands would be covered in paint.

I have good memories of my childhood.Life is different now, and I am not just talking about our attitude to religion and Easter.

We know from recent reports that the PlayStation generation of today will never climb a tree or know the joys of going downhill on a hand-made go-kart. Flying kites, clunking conkers and building gang huts are a definite thing of the past - and more's the shame.

In your local park this weekend were there kids rolling a boiled egg down the hill and chasing it with flailing arms while parents watched on fondly? I don't think so.

The trend for youngsters turning away from outdoor activities has robbed this generation of their childhood.

I lay the blame with their parents.

They are either obsessed that paedophiles are preying on their kids in our local parks, or they worry that the germs the kids pick up from a swing set will kill them.

Victims of child abuse are more likely to be attacked within a family than by some stranger who likes woodland walks.

Having been a victim of childhood sexual abuse, I know it wasn't the man in my local park that scared me; it was the uncle who visited that made me fear for my life.

And despite soaring sales of antibacterial products, viruses in hospitals are still killing more people than the germs picked up in a swing park.

As kids growing up in Shettleston, we considered putting ourselves in danger as a form of fun.

We swam in the local burn alongside the rats; we swung across the dunny on a rope that often broke; and we climbed trees that were dangerously high.

I survived - and I don't have asthma or any known allergies that currently blight the lives of many children under the age of 12 living in Scotland today.

I think I swallowed enough bacteria to immunise me from any attack of chemical warfare.

Being a child should be an adventure. Negotiating dangerous situations and creating coping skills is absolutely important to a growing youngster - you can't learn that stuff on a PlayStation 3.

Sitting on a chair, racing cars or killing people with big guns on a computer, doesn't count as a skill base.

A total of 577 children attended hospital last year suffering from repetitive strain injury (RSI), a condition that is normally associated with factory workers or people who work constantly on computers.

We never had RSI in my day, unless you count the slap you got from your mammy if you repeatedly asked her for money, when she snapped under the strain and then gave you a smack on the head.

We need to teach kids how to have fun outside the house.

Having said all that, I never let my daughter, Ashley, stand beside a railway track and watch as coins get flattened beneath the wheels of an express train, climb into a condemned tenement to collect copper wire, or sit in a burnt-out stolen car pretending to drive - as I did.

She will never know the quest of tormenting a big fat dog called "The Coo" and getting chased through the back courts of Kenmore Street as it snapped at our heels.

That took up most of our time in the long summer months, though the dog stayed fat and we became fantastic sprinters.

I suppose I was over-protective with my child, but I did try to balance it out with walks in the woods and swimming at Scottish beaches.

I never would have let her swim in any offshoot of the River Clyde.

But I did show her how to climb a tree, and we did make a go-kart and we used to go down the Glasgow Green and push her around in it.

If we teach our children to fear everything outside the house, whether it is germs, tall trees or child killers, we give them no reason to switch off the computer games and look outside.

THERE'S NO SMOKE WITHOUT IRE...

IT REALLY is odd when you walk into a bar in London and watch people light up; your brain automatically thinks, "Put that ciggie out" - then you remember you are south of the Border.

England's own ban on smoking comes into force in July, and I for one can't wait. I had forgotten how stinky you get standing on stage with people blowing clouds of thick cigarette smoke all over you. There were so many people puffing away in the front row of the comedy club I played in Ealing last Thursday it was like a smoking competition.

I thought I had suddenly become a magician as the billowing smoke around my legs resembled a dry-ice display. If only I had hidden a wee Easter bunny down my bra to pull out with a flourish for the perfect conjuring trick.

Instead, I headed for the Tube station smelling like Guy Fawkes's girlfriend.

LONDON CABBIE PAYS PRICE FOR SCOTTISH CASH

I AM currently in London gigging for the next few weeks, and although I love the place, I do get really humpy about Londoners' attitude to my Scottish money.

My cash is being refused constantly; I am sick of explaining that it's illegal to refuse it.

"I am sorry, but I don't accept Scottish money," a Cockneycab driver chirped as I handed him his fare.

"Well, I, too, am sorry because I have nothing but Sterling in my purse," I said sarcastically.

"I am not taking that money," he yelled throwing it back at me.

"Fine, mate. I have offered you the cash and you won't accept it, and I have just invented a crime called legal stealing!"

I slammed his car door and walked into the comedy club.

How nice of the cabbies in London to give me free rides.