Warning

Health and safety. Three words weighted with the heavy connotations of needless bureaucracy, guaranteed to turn many a cheerful soul as sour as a week-old pint. If only I had a pound for every time I've been forced to sit through brain-numbing courses designed to tell me things that I already know, or things that I could have reasonably fathomed, as could anyone with a mental aptitude greater than that of the average tadpole. Throw in an extra fifty pence for every booklet I've been made to read or fill in, so that I "learn" such valuable life lessons as not using oven cleaner as mouthwash, or not storing flammable objects next to a volcano. I'd have so much money, it'd make it worth having taken five separate courses on heavy lifting.

It's easy to fall into the trap of thinking that things weren't always like this, that the past was a glorious place where small children could drink bleach with impunity, and trampolining on top of stepladders was positively encouraged. However, in the course of doing some research yesterday evening, I happened across a startling truth: apparently, we've always needed saving from ourselves. How do I know? Through the magic of public information films, of course.

In the Seventies, people seem to have been in mortal danger every single minute. Whether they were running for a bus, or just polishing the hallway floor, every activity concealed potentially fatal ramifications. The PIFs were there to guide you on your safe and merry way, either by enlisting the help of big-name stars who'd never go out of fashion, or simply scaring the fucking bejesus out of you.

There's no doubt that these lifesaving films were necessary. After all, how else would you have known the consequences that awaited you if your plug broke, and you decided to fashion a replacement plug out of matchsticks? Or why you should never stuff a welly into an escalator? Or why the first thing women apparently look for in a man is the ability to swim?

So far, so ludicrous. But the greatest triumph of the era is without a doubt Charley the Cat, the cartoon feline to whom The Prodigy would later pay homage. It's not difficult to see the attraction that Charley holds for the electronic punks, as I doubt there's ever been an animal in film or television history as drugged up to its eyeballs as this one. Between chattering gibberish, having violent spasms and occasionally self-harming, there's just never a dull moment when Charley's about. I think his quintessential outing is the memorable encounter with boiling water, summarised succinctly by the uploader: "That retard of a cat is at it again. This time it takes him about twenty seconds to realise what is burning his skin off. Then he tries to give ME some advice? Do one, you furry nonce!"

I think it's high time health and safety got given the heave-ho in favour of some more of these visual masterpieces. Who wouldn't love hearing Charley explain why trying to swallow an iPad isn't the best idea, or watching Jedward demonstrate the long-term health risks of decapitation? If we really need to be wrapped in cotton wool and protected from the world around us, the least they could do is give us a decent laugh in the process.

Presuming, of course, that it's still safe to laugh. It may not be. Where's Alvin Stardust when you need him? He'd know what to do.