SOMETIMES it feels as if we are living in a parallel universe to our children. Technology is moving so fast, I can’t keep up with everything they’re into. And the terminology they use baffles me.

I don’t understand Instagram and Snapchat. And when I complained, after seeing the brilliant documentary film Amy, about the singer-songwriter Amy Winehouse, that I was going to have to buy her Back to Black CD again as one of the boys lost my old one years ago, they laughed.

“No-one buys CDs anymore, Mum. You’re so out of touch.” We daren’t mention our old vinyl records, ancient artefacts which should probably have been rehoused in a museum by now.

But we’re not just at odds over technology.

All our cultural references are out of sync. We’ll refer to a really popular TV series of a few years back, a widely known catch-phrase or a pretty big pop star from our youth and they look at us, baffled.

I suppose it was hardly surprising when I told one of them that his school blazer was so tight he looked like Norman Wisdom that they all went: “Norman Who?”

Or that we had to call up a clip of Acorn Antiques on You Tube to explain a joke to them, which involved comparing granny to ‘Mrs Overall’.

We’re going to hear Squeeze – the British band popular in the Seventies, Eighties and Nineties - play in October, and of course they haven’t heard of them.

I’ve become used to the feeling that I am trapped in some sort of time lapse as far as my children are concerned. But when our 22-year-old, Charlie, brought his girlfriend Emily up from London for the weekend to see the Yorkshire Dales, it was refreshing to go out and do something we could all enjoy together.

They seemed to appreciate the ancient splendour of Fountains Abbey as much as I did. And the timeless appeal of the beautiful rolling countryside as we drove through Masham, Middleham and Leyburn, wasn’t lost on them either.

When Emily commented on the wide, open views, Charlie was able to show off some of his local knowledge: “Did you know, North Yorkshire is the biggest county in England?” he said.

We were about to head to Reeth: “Actually,” I added: “The village where we’re going to next used to boast having the bobby with the biggest beat in the whole of England?”

“What are you talking about?” said Charlie. “Well, I did a story about it years ago for The Northern Echo - the bobby with the biggest beat in the country.”

“Bobby?” said Charlie. “Beat? What are these words, bobby and beat? It sounds as if you’re speaking a different language. I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.”

Emily intervened: “Bobby is an old-fashioned word for policeman, Charlie. And the beat is the district or patch he covers.”

Charlie looked stunned. “How do you know that?” he said, amazed. “I studied criminology at university,” she said.

PARENTS of teenage boys who have smelly feet (that’s all of them) might be interested in the following piece of information.

My 19-year-old, Patrick, who plays a lot of sport, admits that the smell of his room in university halls in Manchester had got to the point where it was almost unbearable: “What with football and rugby boots, trainers and astroturf trainers all in one small room, it was becoming too much, especially in winter when it was too cold to keep the windows open.”

Then someone told him to try a fresh, dry teabag in each shoe: “It worked, honestly,” said Patrick. “I don’t know how, but it just absorbs the smell. I don’t notice a thing now.”

So, to anyone who wants to try it, he says all you need to do is change the teabags once a week to ensure a smell-free zone.

All I would add is if, like Patrick, your son is away at university and decides to take this piece of advice, if you’re ever visiting, think twice before accepting the offer of a cup of tea…

MY eight year old nephew, Ben, was showing me something on his iPad: “Do you know, you’re allowed to bring your own iPad into class in my school when you’re in years 5 and 6,” he said. “Are you really?” I asked. “Oh yes, as long as you don’t get caught,” he replied.