Old codgers always have an opinion about everything. Our very own team of Victor Meldrews - Peter Cook, Alan Watkins and Major Gerry Bartlett (Retired) - have 10 times more grey hair than anyone else in the building and consequently a rich stock of opinions and whinges accumulated over the years.

Not that there’s a shortage of topical subjects to provide them with ammunition. But its not all moans. And if you’ve got a few ideas to help them fire the shots, they’ll be pleased to hear from you.

You can't help but feel sorry for mothers-to-be who turned up to collect their baby equipment at a Chatham store last week, only to find it had gone out of business.

Several of them stood by helplessly as they watched bailiffs load buggies, cots, car seats and cribs, which they had shelled out good money for, into a van to be driven off for auction.

Many were chronically hard up, and had paid for their goods by weekly instalments.

No doubt it will be the banks and other creditors who get paid off first, if there is any cash available when the stock is sold. Next will come landlords and suppliers.

Right at the bottom of the heap will be the mothers who have coughed up for products they badly and urgently and imminently need.

In most cases of this kind, there is never money left over for the innocent victims of company failure.

This is fundamentally and morally wrong. Surely, the most vulnerable should be first in line for a pay-out.

These mothers could not have known they were taking a risk when they handed over their money; whereas banks and business people lend money and supply products, fully aware there is an element of risk.

Maybe, there is someone out there who has a bit of spare cash a lottery winner perhaps and who might like to help at least the worst off of these women.

Giving birth is surrounded by enough anxiety without money worries.

If there is such a person, I will be glad to put them in touch.

Of course, it wouldn't have happened in my day.

I spent my first few months sleeping in a drawer placed on top of an old army trunk. No posh cribs in those days. Didn't you know there was a war on?

But it did me no harm, apart from giving me a flatter than usual head and a lifelong aversion to the pungent smell of camphor.

Instead of baby buggies, of course, we had proper perambulators.

This enabled mothers to gaze and goo at their babies, instead of subjecting them to the scary ordeal of looking ahead at a terrifying world.

These prams were built to last, and were handed on from mum to mum, as each one popped.