GENETIC inheritance is a fascinating thing. Some of our features, such as blue eyes or brown hair, or particular medical conditions, are clearly passed down through the family line.

And so, we have one brown eyed, dark haired boy, the rest blue-eyed and fair. They all suffer from asthma, a few from hay fever.

But other behavioural traits are learned. It’s probably best not go into all those bad habits that have obviously been passed down from their dad. But it’s safe to say our boys love football and have a tendency to mimic and poke fun at one another.

I have never been able to spot any obvious characteristics or interests which might have been influenced by me. They are all, I’m afraid, their father’s sons.

But then young Albert exhibited some bizarre behaviour last week, for which only I can be held responsible.

And what is particularly strange about it is that this is behaviour I haven’t exhibited since my teens and early twenties, and none of the boys were aware of it.

From the age of about 16, during exam period, I would go to bed reasonably early, but occasionally wake up a few hours later, convinced it was 11am, not 11pm, going on to berate my parents for letting me lie in, while getting dressed and rushing around gathering my school stuff together.

It never used to occur to me that, while it was pitch black outside, it couldn’t possibly be morning. Although I appeared to be awake, was aware of what I was doing and remembered it all next day, it may have been a form of sleepwalking.

I did it again on a few occasions, when I first started work as an accountant in London and had to sit professional exams. Then, flatmates would reassure that I hadn’t lain in and gently guide me back to bed.

And so, when poor Albert went to bed at 7pm, the night before his French oral test last week, little did he know that he was about to repeat my behaviour.

With his dad away, I was out at a school meeting and left 19-year-old Patrick and 16-year-old Roscoe in charge.

When I returned and asked if everything had been OK, they couldn’t wait to show me the video they had made on their phone.

Albert had woken at 8pm, convinced it was 8am and that he only had 20 minutes to catch his school bus: “Where’s Mum gone? Why didn’t she wake me?” he shouted out, seeing my car wasn’t there.

His big brothers, seeing that he had got up and put on his school uniform, asked him what he was doing. But when the panic stricken Albert revealed he was about to miss his bus, instead of telling the poor boy it was OK and he could go back to bed, they decided to milk it for all it was worth.

Which is just what their dad would have done at the same age.

Their film shows them telling Albert that, if he hurried, he could just about make the bus. In the next shot, he is grabbing his dinner money from the jar of coins in the kitchen.

To be fair to Albert, it was light outside as he ran across the lawn to the bus stop where, finally, his older brothers, laughing hysterically, told him it wasn’t actually morning and he could go back to bed.

Poor boy. Of all the traits he could have inherited from me, he got this one. And, since he’s only in his first year at secondary school, there could be quite a few years of this yet to go…

AUTHOR and one time school inspector Gervase Phinn, who recently gave a talk at Leyburn, told how he turned up to inspect one particular primary school in the Yorkshire Dales and spoke to some children in the playground. When he inquired if they knew how many children were at the school, he was told about 100. “And how many teachers work here?” asked Gervase. “About half of them,” piped up one young lad.

I ALSO have Gervase to thank for the gem about the boy who asked, as the family tucked into their Saturday night fish and chip take-away: “Mum, when grandad dies, who’s having his fish and chips?”