A letter to Johnny Jughead

I was born in 1967, the year that Play School began and one year before it was aired in colour, not that this would have had any impact on me as both my parents and grandparents had black and white television sets. Each day, the presenters of Play School would change and my enjoyment of the show would change with them.

At 4 o'clock each afternoon, I would crawl out from underneath the dining table to watch the show. Why was I under the table? I was scared of the creepy clown on the test-card. For those too young to know what that is, it was a static picture that was shown when there was either nothing on air or when the connection to the programme was lost. This happened a lot at that time, so I spent a lot of time beneath the table, hiding my face in the cloth. I'm still scared of clowns, but now have the sense to change channel, rather than dive for the dining room.

The days that I looked forward to most of all were when Johnny Ball, (born Graham Thalben Ball - how the hell do you get 'Johnny' from that?), was the main presenter. To my toddler's mind, he was funny, friendly, and bizarrely, I found him quite good-looking. Just two years younger than my dad, maybe I was seeking an approachable father figure. My father was a long-distance lorry driver, and apart from when he was on strike, I didn't see much of him. Because of this, I tended to latch on to males who were on television on an almost daily basis, such as Bruce Forsythe - and, dare I mention - Rolf Harris.

My grandfather was quick to pick up on my crush, and with his typical wicked humour nicknamed him 'Johnny Jughead'. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!

I started school at four and was quick to learn to read and write. Keen to put these new skills to the test, I decided to write a letter to my hero and to ask for a photograph. My granddad had died two years previously but his influence was still strong. Clutching my pencil in my tiny hand and with a sheet of my mother's Basildon Bond, I began: 'Dear Johnny Jughead.'

For almost two years I rushed to the letterbox whenever I heard its clatter. Each and every time I was disappointed. At six-years-old and wiser to the ways of men, I started to think that Johnny Jughead was not worthy of my adoration if he could not be bothered to reply to a lovelorn child. Down came the photo carefully cut from the Radio Times and pinned to the Magic Roundabout wallpaper above my bed. It was replaced by Kurt Russell, who was then starring in 'The Quest', a programme that the whole household was glued to every Sunday night.

Next door to us lived an old couple with an endless succession of lodgers. They had hearts of gold but their house was filthy. It is unbelievable to me now that I would sit on 'Mr Tom's' knee and help him pack his pipe, or pluck pigeons and pheasants in the yard.

When they decided to move to warden accomodation, my mother helped them to pack up their cluttered home. Whilst wrapping a vase, she found inside it a torn-up envelope addressed to me, and a ripped up autographed photo of Johnny Ball. How badly I had misjudged my first love!

Even after my younger brother, sister and I had all outgrown Play School, Johnny continued for many years to be a constant presence and an educational influence on my life. My mathematics improved, thanks to 'Think of a Number'. Despite his own poor educational qualifications, he taught me more about science and technology than I ever learnt at school.

I would still look upon Johnny Ball with great fondness, but recently discovered a few of his political views which I very much clash with. According to Wikipedia, in November 2006, Ball voiced his opposition to the Safeguarding Vulnerable Groups Act, which would require any adult working with children to be vetted by the Criminal Records Bureau. In an interview with The Sunday Times, he said: 'It is like George Orwell's 1984... a quarter of adults will have to be checked... The fear we are instilling in [children] is abhorrent.' I sincerely hope he has changed his mind in the aftermath of all the BBC child abuse trials.

Now aged 82, Ball is still a prominent speaker in schools and universities and continues to promote science and mathematics in education.