WHEN we were kids, monsters were scary. They took their jobs seriously. Days out to Redcar or Whitby meant a trip to the funfair and the ghost trains always had a credible spook, Frankenstein's monster, or Dracula waiting to appear out of the darkness.

In those days, monsters worked for a living: popping up at different parts of the ride, and trying to make a grab for us with a spine-tingling laugh.

On the annual school trip to Flamingo Land in North Yorkshire, we were always taken on the jungle cruise and, when we got off, we were led into a tree-house with a mad gorilla in a cage.

Just as we approached the bars for a closer look, the gorilla would spring to life, burst through the cage and send us running for our lives, convinced it was real.

It must have been exhausting work inside that monkey suit on hot summer days, but he never flinched from his monstrous responsibilities.

But things ain't what they used to be. It seems that there has been an alarming slump in monster standards - and it needs to be stopped.

The kids went off to the funfair at Northallerton with their auntie recently and, when they got back, I asked our youngest what it had been like.

"It was rubbish, Dad," mumbled ten-year-old Max.

"Why was it rubbish?" I asked.

"The werewolf."

"What about the werewolf?"

"It cost two quid to go on the ghost train and when we came round the corner, the werewolf was just standing there having a cup of coffee!" he moaned.

I had to agree with him that it just wasn't on, but it seems that this wasn't just a one-off.

By complete coincidence, Chris - a colleague and father-of-two - came in to work with an alarming report of a similarly depressing experience on a ghost train at a travelling fair at Saltburn.

Chris was appalled that the resident ghost not only gave him a high-five as he passed by, but he was wearing trainers.

What on earth is the world coming to? Ghosts don't give high-fives, they jump out from behind things and go "boo". I'm not really sure what shoes they wear, but it certainly shouldn't be trainers.

A straw poll of other dads I know has produced further evidence that ghosts and the like aren't entering into the right spirit. The worst examples include a wicked witch spotted having a sneaky fag round the back of a ride and a Dracula tucking into a hot dog when he thought no one was looking.

Matt, another dad at work, told me how he came into his lounge the other day to find his three-year-old son Joe watching Dr Who on TV. There was what Matt described as "a nasty, big scorpion-type monster" on the screen so he put his arm round Joe to make sure he wasn't scared.

"Don't worry, Dad - it's not real," said Joe.

If three-year-olds watching Dr Who know the monsters aren't real, there is a serious problem.

Monsters have to get their act together or face the consequences because our Max has vowed never to bother with the ghost train again.

He was still livid about it days later: "Dad, that werewolf was just standing there, leaning against the wall, holding his head under his arm, and drinking coffee," he said. "I wouldn't care but he didn't even go grrrrrr."

He's a boy who doesn't suffer ghouls gladly.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

AT Barningham WI, Doreen Powell remembered the time her grand-daughter's cat Timmy died.

"Where's he gone?" asked little Helen.

"To heaven," replied Grandma, softly.

"How did he get there - plane or helicopter?" asked Helen.

A TEACHER, who asked to remain anonymous, remembered taking a party of children on a mystery trip to the Railway Museum in Darlington quite a few years back.

The minibus parked behind the funeral parlour up Northgate and the children couldn't help seeing the coffins stacked up round the back.

"Goody, goody," shouted a little boy called Stephen. "We're going canoeing."

OUR Hannah, 15, has just completed a week's work experience at a graphic artists' studio.

"What do you think you'll do for your work experience, Max?" I asked her little brother over lunch.

"Easy - go to an ice cream factory," he replied.