Kate Moss has declared she is proud to still be acting like a teenager and has no intention of packing in the fags and behaving like a middle-aged mum.

Meanwhile 60-something Rolling Stone Ronnie Wood is in the throes of yet another out-of-control escapade in a lifetime filled with seriously wild and out-of-control episodes.

But here in the real world – where earning a crust requires slightly more than just looking impossibly beautiful, or strumming along to much-loved old songs – we younger folk seem to be heading in the opposite direction.

In fact life has almost got so tame I'm starting to feel worryingly like sensible Saffy in Ab Fab.

Trend

I can't speak for our whole generation but it's a trend – or perhaps an affliction – that certainly seems to be spreading among me and my friends.

There's a new predilection for somewhat genteel interests.

The signs have been there a while – starting a book club, growing my own veg – then the other night after dinner at our friends' house a debate started about the location of Tunisia and Mauritania.

This triggered a contest to see who could draw and label the most accurate map of northern Africa.

They were so excited they moved on to see who could list the most English counties.

I kid you not.

As I sat there flicking through Grazia – more into accessories than atlases – I wondered when these alien impostors had taken over my mates' bodies and what they had done with my real friends.

Then I remembered another equally alarming incident.

Just two days earlier, as we waved off another group of pals who had stayed the night, each of them casually mentioned that they'd spotted a good book on our shelves and could they borrow it til next time.

Then, on a day out we spent half the time pointing out spelling mistakes on menus and in shop windows. Well, "quich" and "diamonte" – unforgivable at any age, surely?

But I'm only too aware that discussing literacy levels sounds more like something pensioners might do than young, funky couples.

What happened to the good old days when we were wild and a little bit cool? Or at least thought we were.

What happened to those halcyon days of kitchen gymnastics in the early hours?

(Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to clamber all the way round the kitchen making a complete circuit without touching the ground)

What happened to digging out the dressing-up box at 2am and sitting around in tutus and Bob the Builder masks til the sun came up?

Dancing

Where are all the pals who prefer dancing on mantelpieces to dancefloors?

I'd sign up for growing old gracefully if it meant I would look like Helen Mirren in a bikini at 60 but that seems increasingly unlikely as she's already out-glamming me.

So I'm preparing to rally the troops for a night out where we remember how much fun it is being young, free and feckless.

It will just have to wait until I've finished reading this novel for book club, made a batch of strawberry jam and hand-stitched some lavender bags to put under guests' pillows.

Old, me?


The tears test


IF you want to test how soppy you are on a scale of one to 10 I have the perfect challenge.

I burst into uncontrollable tears the first time I saw it – and the second and third times.

I defy anyone not to feel massively moved.

In fact, I've just watched it a further three times to make sure I had the right internet link and I'm valiantly typing through a veil of tears right now.

For one of the most heart-warming sights you have ever seen and will ever see, go to http://www.youtube.com watch?v=oiGKWoJi5qM&feature=related

If you don't break down and cry like a baby when you see Christian the lion reunited with his former owners, you've officially got a heart of stone.

And if you're anything like as emotional as me, I advise you to watch it in private so nobody sees your mascara turn your eyes into two deformed spiders.


Lesson in horror


Examining the scene of a fatal crash the other day I stumbled across more than I'd bargained for.

It was bad enough seeing fragments of car parts and glass scattered along the grass verge.

But when I looked more closely I spotted a bloodied, shattered windscreen and various other blood-stained objects.

As I stood there feeling queasy and imagining how horrific the smash must have been I thought, this is the sort of image young drivers should see.

Surely if they saw such devastation close-up they might think about driving more carefully and realise they're not invincible.

When I got back to the office I shared my idea, explaining how upsetting it had been and saying: "I really think they should take kids to see stuff like that".

My colleague replied: "Nah, I think you'll find they prefer to go the zoo – places that are a bit more fun."