HERE'S a thing. When a woman loses a lot of weight, she doesn't always keep it off.

I thought about telling you that, on the basis of my own extensive research; but I let it pass, believing my conclusions to be less than riveting.

Yet, how wrong can you be? This week, it is impossible to get away from the gobsmacking news that Geri Halliwell has filled out a bit since her incarnation as an anorexic yogaphile.

Open any national newspaper and you will find her plastered all over the pages, largely on the grounds of her weight gain.

Now, it is only fair to point out that some commentators did take the time to comment on certain other newsworthy aspects of the story.

No, silly, it wasn't that Geri was doing a good turn at the Party In The Park rock concert for the Prince's Trust. It was the fact that she was pictured snogging Prince Charles while wearing a pair of fake snakeskin Wellingtons.

Some onlookers were snooty enough to suggest that Geri's boots might have constituted a serious social blunder, but I can't believe it is the first time Charles has kissed a girl in wellies.

In fact, given the rich inner life of the current heir to the throne, I shouldn't be surprised if Geri had worn them as a special favour to him.

Anyway. Wellies or no wellies, it was not long before writers got to the main event - Geri's vital statistics.

With an educated guess, I'd say she's now a size ten, so sadly for the more acidic among Fleet Street's people-watchers, there was precious little ammunition to start analysing how she came to be 'piling on the pounds'.

They had to settle for marking Geri's card by reporting approving remarks from the Prince of Wales and from 'an onlooker' along the lines that she was now looking much healthier and more natural than in her days as a lettuce-chomping elf.

But Geri had better watch out. You can bet your bottom dollar those writers are keeping their powder dry in case Ginger Spice dares hit the pneumatic heights she once scaled in a sequinned Union Jack dress.

The other burning issue of the week appears to be the emergence of second childhood in your middle age.

I'm saying nothing about Prince Charles treating himself to a mini-Woodstock in Hyde Park, but it seems that well-off people in their forties and fifties are turning back the clock by revisiting the pleasures of their youth.

Gap years, train sets and Harley Davidsons are all on the wish-list for baby-boomers in trainers and combat trousers who want to have another go at their wild days, according to a survey by the think-tank Demos.

Personally, I'd pass up the Easy Rider re-enactments and the Thomas the Tank Engine reunions for another nice gap year any day.

But then again...I seem to remember that some of the hostels I used to call home were equally accommodating to a rich variety of assorted cockroaches and rats.

I'm not sure I could face all that 'life experience' the second time around.

Even if I could afford to take time out, I'd spend the entire year fretting over whether I had a job to go back to. And as for what it would do to my pension...well, it doesn't bear thinking about.

I'm not in my twenties, you know.

Updated: 12:13 Wednesday, July 14, 2004