IKNOW it's crazy, but I was very taken by last week's report of the middle-aged man who got himself into all kinds of trouble with the law by going for a spin on his motorbike "to feel the wind in his hair".

There but for the grace of God....

Bernard Callaway, 50, of Walpole Road, Brighton, married with two grown-up daughters, was fined £170 for driving an uninsured vehicle, exceeding the speed limit and failing to display L-plates.

Peter Morris, his solicitor, quoted by the Argus, told Lewes magistrates that Mr Callaway was carried away last September by a sudden urge to ride into the wind and was now "sorry and embarrassed".

Jaunts like his across Telscombe Cliffs should not be encouraged, of course, but nobody came to any harm and I must say it does sound like the stuff of sweet dreams.

I've always had a soft spot for those who do crazy things, acting on pure impulse for all manner of reasons - to break with conformity, beat the system, get away from it all. Even fall in love.

In 1912 the great novelist D.H. Lawrence got his first glimpse of his tutor's wife, Frieda Weekley, at a reception given by her husband, marched up to her and suggested they run away together.

She agreed on the spot, abandoning her children to elope with Lawrence. They married and were together until his death in 1930.

Princess Margaret made an impulsive gesture at the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth in 1953 which revealed to the world that she was involved in a doomed affair with a divorced man old enough to be her father.

As the Queen was making history in Westminster Abbey, her 22-year-old sister, raised a white-gloved hand and brushed a speck of dust off the uniform of handsome equerry Group Captain Peter Townsend. The secret was out.

Look at Hitler's deputy Rudolf Hess. He flew to Scotland on a whim in 1942, convinced he could negotiate peace with Winston Churchill, but finished up in prison and eventually was sentenced to life for war crimes.

Isuppose the most famous example of sudden impulse in recent times was television's Reggie Perrin (Leonard Rossiter) giving up family, home and job as a sales manager to go walkies, leaving his clothes behind on the beach to keep everyone guessing.

What's your dream? Have you a fantasy following your around? Or did you change your entire life on the spur of a moment? I'll personally deliver a bottle of champagne to the reader who, in my judgement, sends the best letter on the subject. Write to me at the Argus. Mark the envelope DREAMS - and keep it decent and legal!

MY SYMPATHY goes out to William Roache - Ken Barlow in Coronation Street - who went to law to clear his name and has finished up bankrupt with debts of more than £300,000.

You couldn't find a more decent, honourable bloke than Bill. He's a quiet family man with firm beliefs, a practising Druid and very much the innocent party in the legal tangle that has ruined him.

He called me a few weeks ago to ask for a copy of my autobiography, Touched By Angels, which told the story of my problems with Peter Carter-Ruck, the famed libel lawyer, in my disastrous legal battle with the BBC years ago.

Bill insisted on paying, although the book was long out of print and I was only too happy to send him a copy.

"Forget it," I told him when he mentioned the cost. Nevertheless, he still sent the money. That's Bill Roache.

The actor won £50,000 damages in his libel action against The Sun for calling him boring, but had to pay the court costs because he had turned down an out-of-court settlement offering the same money.

He then sued Carter-Ruck's team for wrongly advising him but lost that battle.

Facing huge debts, he has declared himself bankrupt.

That means his lovely cottage in Wilmslow, Cheshire, and his possessions are up for grabs if the Receiver claims them to pay creditors.

Someone should have told Bill what an eminent barrister advised me: in libel, only the lawyers win.

ANOTHER kick in the teeth for sad, tragic Paula Yates. The latest account of her doomed love affair with Michael Hutchence of INXS, by his friend Vincent Lovegrove, reckons she pulled the strings and he was trying to get out of the relationship.

Hutchence hanged himself by his belt on the door of a Sydney hotel room in November 1997.

The rock star's Aussie friends can whinge all they like about Michael never planning to marry Paula but those of us who know her have no doubt they were crazy about each other.

Why can't they leave Paula alone? Having fired her when she worked for me, I'm glad of the opportunity to tell her detractors to naff off!

MEDIA madness, I call it - an ugly trend in which some editors rely on all that is ugly, sick and outrageous to boost ratings.

Like this evil rubbish I found last week in a reputable newspaper by critic Victor Lewis-Smith: "As a founder member of the Royal Society for the Promotion of Cot Death (following recent revelations that many infant fatalities are not, after all, accidental, we celebrate Smothering Sunday each year) I naturally empathise with the plight of the newly-born".

Imagine Anne Diamond reading that, or any other mother who has mourned an infant through cot death.

The desire to shock is all around. Fly-on-the-wall documentaries are all the rage, with subjects such as lunatic drivers and neighbours from hell.

These programme makers are screaming for attention. They'll not get it from me. One button on the remote control is marked "Mute". I recommend it highly.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.