If Henry can do it, why can't Mike?

At the ceremony last week to mark the 90th anniversary of the start of the war, Mr Allingham, frail and bemedalled, struggled from his wheelchair, determined to place his wreath personally on the cenotaph. It was one way in which he could honour the memory of all those friends and comrades who sacrificed their lives in another world, another century, another age.

Meanwhile, here in the 21st century Mike Blake is 19. He and his wife have four children, another on the way and he also fathered another when he was 13. The family lives on benefits - £1,150 a month in benefits and a rent-free council house. Mike has been offered work but has refused it because he is better off being supported by the rest of us.

Although he seems to be a caring father, the idea of standing on his own feet is clearly foreign to him. He looks after his children but sees no reason why he should support them too. Benefits do it better.

What was intended as a safety net has become a lifestyle choice. And who can blame Mike Blake?

He didn't invent the system. And if his family is better off with him not working, then there is something very wrong with the system and you can see the logic of staying at home and looking after the kids.

And Mike is 19. He has grown up in a world where the idea of taking responsibility for our own actions has become increasingly alien. There is always someone else to blame, someone else to pick up the pieces, someone else to sue. Wherever the buck stops, it's rarely with us.

Meanwhile Henry Allingham and his few remaining comrades - all over 100 years old - have seen and experienced horrors that the rest of us can barely imagine even in our worst nightmares. Yet they believe in honour and bravery and self-reliance and doing the right thing, whatever the sacrifice.

They are very old men. But let us hope they live a while longer yet - for they still have a lot to teach us.

EVERY Monday they bounce into the office - bronzed and fit, smiling happily and full of chat about beautiful beaches, bars, wonderful little restaurants or luxurious pools. They might even have a few photos to show you, or even a present, maybe a box of real Turkish Delight , Devon toffees or duty free biscuits.

Yes, they're people back from holiday. That bright-eyed alertness gives them away, that air of relaxation and wellbeing as they catch up with the gossip.

And it lasts about two hours. By lunchtime they are slumped over their desks like everyone else, their energy faded, their tan already vanishing under office pallor, the pool, the beach, the bar just a distant memory as they work their way through the pile of junk that's accumulated in the previous two weeks.

That's the trouble with holidays - you need another holiday to get over them.

Encounters with a lemon

THE news of the death of journalist Bernard Levin reminded me of a glorious moment in his broadcasting career. No, not the time when someone from the audience on That Was The Week That Was came out and punched him, but a lighter form of retaliation.

Bernard Levin was interviewing a woman who I think might have been an astrologer or some such. And every time he interrupted or refused to give her enough time to answer the question properly, she squirted him with water from a plastic lemon.

It was great fun for the audience, harmless and very effective. And I'm surprised it never caught on as a weapon against over-powering interviewers. Imagine it against Jeremy Paxman.

Bernard Levin ended up rather damp, the astrologer had had her say. When it comes to dealing with bullying questioners, the answer most certainly was a lemon.

DO you know why it's sometimes easier to deal with a call centre in India rather than up the road?

It's because the Indians speak proper English. And once you've got used to the accent and they've got used to yours, communication is relatively straightforward. Unlike dealing with some of the nuggets in this country who are inarticulate to the point of utter incomprehension.

So hooray then, that from this autumn schools have been told to put more emphasis on the art of speaking clearly and grammatically in standard English - nothing to do with accents or talking posh - but to ensure that children can leave school able to make themselves understood to people other than their immediate friends who share the same system of primeval grunts, squeals and slang.

Being able to communicate clearly and confidently is a tremendous asset, one of the best ways to get on in life. All our children deserve that chance.

And as we all conduct more and more of our business dealing with someone at the end of a telephone, it will also make life a great deal easier for the rest of us.

Big boobs and rave reviews

PAMELA Anderson has written a novel. Well no, of course she hasn't. Her ghost writer has written the novel, but Pammie's name appears on the cover, along with her naked picture. The book is apparently predictable trashy drivel - but it's had rave reviews from fans and is heading for the bestseller lists.

Writing talent? Originality? Literary ability? Painstaking craftsmanship and a long apprenticeship? An MA in Creative Writing? Forget it. None of those are as useful as enormous breasts and a bright red swimming cossie.

The sensible Amish road to adulthood

SENSIBLE people, the Amish. They are a deeply religious sect in America, who by and large live in the same simple style as their 17th century ancestors - no cars or electricity, no make-up or jewellery, simple clothes and simple lives with lots of prayers.

But unlike those sects who rule their youngsters with a rod of iron, the Amish encourage their children to go out in the world. When they get to their late teens, they're turned out on their "Rumspringa" - it literally means "Running around" - where they can make the most of modern life, whether it's shopping, drink or anything else that takes their fancy. If at the end of it they choose to come back home, they are accepted, no questions asked. No recriminations, no shock horror, wringing of hands.

And the surprising thing is that many, indeed most, of the Amish teenagers, having tasted the freedom of the outside world, are happy to come home again and settle down. It's called growing up.

Maybe teenage wildness is best spent far away from home and the parental eye. The Amish have Rumspringa. We have university. It probably amounts to pretty much the same thing.

Back Chat

Dear Sharon,

I was interested to read your views on young adults returning to the family home. My oldest uncle never left home. When he was in his fifties my grandmother was still doing his washing, making his bed and doing his cooking. He was an intelligent man but apart from holidays, he had never been away from home as he was considered unfit for military service.

When my mother died, he employed a part-time housekeeper but still went to my aunt's most Sundays for dinner. He was never in the least bit independent and although he had a number of lady friends never married. In the family we all thought this was because no wife would have looked after him as well as his mother did.

Jean Fox, Bishop Auckland.

Dear Sharon,

IT amuses me when I hear so many young parents complaining that their children don't sleep and then they reveal that they have television sets in their bedrooms. Well no wonder! Children need a bedtime routine that is a nice wind down at the end of the day, getting them in the mood to settle down and sleep . Filling their heads with television nonsense is the last thing they need.

If children are having nightmares, not sleeping and waking their parents at all hours, I would just ask the parents to take the TV away from their children's bedrooms for a couple of weeks as an experiment. They might be pleasantly surprised.

Mrs D. Quinn, Darlington