Peter Rhodes on comedy, conscription and the struggle to get jokes back on telly

The problem is that comedy reflects the society it lives in. The golden age of TV sitcoms was created in a world where jokes and joke-telling were part of the culture. Just as whistling has gone out of fashion, so has the art of telling jokes. We are wary of saying the wrong thing, mocking the wrong people, revealing the wrong politics. For me, a key moment came years ago when some politically-correct, non-sexist young comic told a joke on telly about washing-up. The punchline was that no matter how you washed the dishes, you were always left with a teaspoon in the bowl. And at that moment I thought, ye gods, if we're reduced to gags about cutlery, the sooner they bring back Les Dawson's mother-in-law, the better. Still waiting.

Romeo, the biggest beef steer in the world, has found peace in an animal sanctuary in Oregon where this 6ft 4ins tall beast will live out his days in peace and cheat the abattoir. Mind you, if someone grew the biggest horseradish in the world, it would be a temptation, wouldn't it?

The Tories had barely unveiled their plans for mandatory National Service than they back-tracked, assuring that no-one would be jailed for refusing to do it. Behold, the problem of reinstating conscription in a land where individual human rights outweigh a government's edicts. Before the first squad of conscripts reported for training at their local fire station or army camp, some smart lawyers would have persuaded a judge that telling anyone to go somewhere and do something they didn't fancy is a breach of human rights, and that being told to roll up a fire hose or peel large quantities of potatoes constitutes “cruel and unusual punishment” and is therefore illegal.

See the Catch-22? National Service will work only if it's mandatory, but if you make it mandatory, it won't work.