Should a father support his children until they are independent? Of course.

Should a man support his ex-wife for ever? Of course not.

When Tracey Wright’s ex husband wanted to reduce his maintenance payments as he approached retirement, she challenged him in court. The judge, a woman, told her to get a job.

That’s what I call equality.

When they divorced, Tracey Wright received a £450,000 house, her husband paid their daughters’ school fees and she was left with £30,000 a year, which is what he gradually wants to reduce over the next five years when she will presumably have a share of his pension.

Her children are ten and 16 and away at school, so what’s she doing with her time? It might not be easy to find work – but it’s a lot easier than for many other women. She’s a qualified riding instructor and as she could afford to spend £100,000 in legal fees, she’s not exactly on the bread line.

Marriage is not a meal ticket but an agreement between grown ups.

Children need looking after and, if they are young, the parent doing the looking after will also need some help and support for those years. But after that you’re on your own.

Many people – usually women but increasingly men too – seemed to be trapped in Jane Austen days. They look upon marriage as a calculated career move on the basis that even if it all goes horribly wrong they’ll make so much out of that it’s worth a few years of their life. Nasty. Greedy. Feeble.

Look after the children. Then keep what you each brought to the marriage and share what you made during it. A fair and simple answer.

But if everything were that simple and fair then we wouldn’t need divorce courts, lawyers or judges, even sensible ones.

Who’d have thought that hairy legs could be so politically powerful?

After a 20 year old Turkish student was raped and murdered by a bus driver, allegedly because she was wearing an “immoral” mini skirt, young men in Turkey and Azerbejan have taken to the streets – in mini skirts . They’re pretty much saying “if wearing a mini skirt is an invitation to rape then come and try your luck sunshine.”

It is brilliant, powerful and funny –the ideal way to get the message across. Good knees too.

We all like something for nothing. But the more we have, the more we crave.

Greed’s just part human nature. If we were completely happy with what we’d got we’d all still be sitting in gloomy caves gnawing on yet another aurochs bone, happily ignorant of the iPhone6.

Our instinct is always to want more. Supermarkets know we’ll nearly always be suckers for a Buy One Get One Free deal – even if we’ll probably let the spare whatever it is rot at the back of the ridge. It’s FREE! We can’t resist.

Filthy rich bankers demand and get mega bonuses. Spoiled rockstars demand dressing rooms full of red jelly babies or vintage champagne. Tony Blair blagged free holidays. Oscar nominees get goodie bags worth $125,000 . Because they can.

No wonder those at the bottom of the heap try and swing an extra benefit or two.

Greed is no respecter of persons. Now that even two of our most respected politicians are suspected of dubious practices there’s a call for MPs to be paid so much that such offers would never be a temptation.

Nice thought. But it’s not that easy.

More money doesn’t work. More money just makes us greedier.

The irony is that the three schoolgirl would-be jihadi brides strode through Gatwick airport in western clothes and all the ease, confidence and freedom that a western upbringing and education has given them.

Teenagers throughout history have done daft things, run away from home, joined crazy causes, given their hearts to the outrageously wrong person, risked their lives and future for one mad moment of romantic recklessness.

These girls are intelligent. I wonder how long it will take them to realise that they will never again stride out with such freedom but have sentenced themselves to a third world life, shuffling anonymous and submissive behind some brutal young warrior in an alien society.

It’s their own fault, their own choice.But it still seems a harsh punishment just for being young and daft.

Great news is that teenage pregnancies are down. Some credit better sex education, more easily available contraception and girls’ aspirations for education and a career. Excellent.

But others say that teenagers too busy fiddling with phones and Facebook to be bothered with relationships in the real world.

And maybe that’s not such good news after all.

The “help!” expression on Scarlett Johansson’s face said it all as she endured John Travolta’s strange wig, his inappropriate groping and murmuring.

Yes, thirty six years after Grease, the swivel-hipped sexy young hero has finally morphed into that creepy uncle who paws the bridesmaids at the family wedding.

He’s lucky Scarlett didn’t slap him.

Mothers of teenage sons, hang on in there, I have hope for you…

Last weekend in Part II of his wedding celebrations, Smaller Son had a party in London. There were friends from school, university and college, most of whom I knew all too well.

Looking at the guest list I watched his past life flow in front of my eyes. I remembered grubby little cub scouts, rampaging twelve year olds, bolshy teenagers, scruffy, stroppy, hungover students who could demolish an entire supermarket shop in two minutes flat.

And now they’re all grown up. The bar was full of gorgeous young men in smart suits and party manners who kept giving me hugs, kisses and cocktails. Even when we’d all had a great deal to drink they were still delightful.

Pay back time at last. If only I’d known that when they were 15….

So Wolf Hall is finished, the last episode the scariest of the lot as it brought out the terrifying nature of life in the Tudor court. Sitting in my 21st Century armchair harmlessly eating a cheese sandwich, I still kept glancing nervously over my shoulder. Wednesdays aren’t going to be the same.

Mark Rylance was wonderful but so wrong. The real Thomas Cromwell was a thug. He might have had the mind of a Machiavelli or a Mandelson but his portrait shows he looked more like John Prescott with a dash of Ed Balls.

Still, the prettier version was so much more entertaining.