First, let's clear something up. You weren't hallucinating - the big blond lad with the red nose who you spotted strolling down Coronation Street on Friday evening (when you looked over Les Battersby's right shoulder) was Peter Schmeichel.
It was a calmer, more mellow and mature Schmeichel too. To his credit, he didn't run the length of the street to get involved in the fight between Gary the window-cleaner and one of his customer's husbands, that was raging as he hit our screens.
There was a time he would have leapt in, where that nose didn't belong, and turned the squabble in to a 22-man-shoving-and-pushing-fest, but this time he minded his own business, just walked on by, past Rita's Kabin, and was last seen heading for Lisbon and a four-million-pounds-over-two-seasons deal. Adieu, Peter. A lovely way to leave the stage.
You weren't hallucinating either if you tuned in to Ladies' Day at Royal Ascot around 3.55 p.m. on Thursday, but I'd hazard a guess that the milliner who created that Tower of London hat, made out of "stripped ostrich quills", might well have been under the influence of something illegal during the design stage. Or maybe that particular woman wore the hat for a bet, but if she did one hopes she was given damn good odds.
You couldn't help but feel some sympathy for horse-racing enthusiasts who switched on the BBC on Thursday to discover that horse-racing was out and stripped ostrich quills were in. Yes, we saw the races, but that was about it. Willie Carson probably wondered why he'd got out of bed that day because he didn't get much of a chance to talk shop.
"Softer feathers are in this year, I haven't seen so many sort of floaty big birds," explained Edwina (a hat designer). Floaty big birds? Willie looked puzzled. (So did we).
"Your hats cost between £200 and £700 - do you think your ladies recycle them? If you're going to spend that much money on a hat can you wear it again if people have seen it once?" Edwina was asked. "They certainly do, I've spotted a few from previous years already today and I haven't been here long," she sniffed.
Imagine paying £700 for a hat and wearing it. . . twice? Ah well, you either have class or you haven't. It's just a pity these low-life commoner, re-cyclers are being allowed in to Royal Ascot these days.
And what was Bam Bam the sheep (who wore a little fleecy cap on her head to match the rest of her outfit) doing at Ascot? "Atlantic Destiny, one of only two fillies in the 4.20, gets so nervous and het up she takes Bam Bam with her wherever she goes," explained Clare Balding (who had a pink UFO on her head).
And sure enough, we saw Atlantic Destiny arriving at Ascot, stepping out of her horse-box accompanied by a sheep. "So, if you're into sheep back Atlantic Destiny," suggested Clare. Willie said nothing, but if he had, judging by the grin on his face, he would never have worked on telly again.
Atlantic Destiny didn't win. In fact Bam Bam the sheep would probably have run faster, but perhaps not quite as speedily as Maurice Greene. As the American readied himself for the 100 metres race in Athens last week Eurosport commentator Tim Hutchings had a bit of a David Coleman-ish moment. "Greene has been talking big about world records for a couple of years now - nobody's saying his words have been hollow, but we're all waiting for it to happen," he yawned.
Bang - 9.79 seconds later it happened, Greene broke the world record. "He gets a pat on the back there from his lawyer," said Hutchings, as a rotund gentleman ran on to the track to congratulate his client. You have to wonder about the state of modern sport when the first person to greet a world record breaker is his lawyer.
Mind you, South African bowler Allan Donald was probably in need of a very good lawyer on Thursday evening when he returned to face his team-mates in the dressing-room after handing Australia a place in the World Cup cricket final.
"Bang, bang, four, four, take that," howled the commentator when Donald's batting partner, Lance Klusener, whacked boundaries off the first two deliveries of the final over of the semi-final. Four balls left, just one run needed.
Donald's nerves seemed to be getting the better of him, though, nearly getting himself run out after the next delivery. It proved to be the dress rehearsal for a moment that will probably haunt the poor fella for the rest of his days.
"Can you belieeeve that? I cannot believe it," shrieked the same commentator when a frozen Donald remained rooted to the spot as Klusener set off on the "winning" run. When he arrived at the other end of the wicket, Donald was still standing there. The Australians looked only slightly less stunned than the unfortunate South African, running him out with ease and taking their place in the final. Wonderful drama, but God, your heart went to Donald.
Will Wimbledon provide as much drama over the next fortnight? Hopefully it will, for Tim Henman's sake at least because judging by the BBC's documentary on him on Saturday afternoon he could do with a little excitement in his life.
The cameras followed him around for five weeks, taking in tournaments in Rome, Dusseldorf and Paris and the over-riding impression one was left with was of the mindnumbing boredom and drudgery of the life of a professional tennis player.
"Once every three days Henman is playing in a tournament somewhere in the world," narrator Des Lynam told us, and you reckoned that was about two days too many for Henman's liking.
Of course the money helps, although one can't be sure that Henman ever sees some of the money he wins. "If I don't collect my cheque at the end of a tournament it gets sent to, um, someone who deals with that sort of that thing," he said. "Collecting cheques is not one of my strong points, so I hope they get sent to the right address."
Just think, there could be a Timothy Henman living in Bognor Regis getting cheques for £200,000 posted to him every month. And with that kind of money, he could even afford to buy his other half a sort of floaty big bird hat once a week. Hope she only wears it the once though.
