EVERYWHERE you look there are warnings about the "couch potato" generation.

Youngsters are risking their health by spending too much time sitting in front of computer games and not getting enough exercise, it said in the paper. And, apparently, it's up to us mums and dads to halt the decline. It's part of our parental responsibilities to dig up the potatoes, get them off the couch and turn them into runner beans.

Take my 13-year-old. A smashing lad who gets plenty of mental exercise by virtue of being a bookworm. But when it comes to physical exercise, it's restricted to his thumb - the thumb on his right hand he uses to control his beloved Playstation. He has a very fit right thumb, my eldest son. His thumb would be a four-minute miler if it were an athlete. It would be a gold medal-winning thumb. But what about the rest of him? Is he going to suffer later in life through lack of exercise?

I decided it was up to me to get him fit so we did two things when we got back from holiday: we put him on Playstation rations - two hours a week maximum - and got him signed up at a local gym.

The rule is he has to do a minimum of two, hour-long sessions a week and, to be fair, he's been doing great. OK, he insists on reading his Playstation magazine while he's working out but it's still significant progress. He's kept it going for a full month and I'm proud of him.

But now that the summer holidays are over and he's back at school, the novelty is wearing off. Last week, he'd only managed one mid-week session so I told him we'd have to go on Saturday morning.

"OK," he muttered unenthusiastically. I let him sleep until 10am before giving him a nudge: "Come on son - we've got to go to the gym."

"What time is it?" he grunted.

"It's ten o'clock."

"Ten o'clock? Don't be stupid, Dad - we can't go to the gym this early," he groaned, turning over and shoving his head under the pillow.

Anyone would think that dawn was just breaking and the birds were twittering at the first glimmer of daylight. The covers were unceremoniously dragged back and he was ordered to get ready, sergeant major style.

Half an hour later, there we were - a middle-aged dad and his grumpy teenager on adjacent treadmills. While I embarked on a brisk ten-minute run with the treadmill programmed to a 'hill climb' and the age set at 35 (it's OK to lie to a machine), he set off on a slow walk, still getting used to the daylight. "I need to warm up - it's too early," he grumped.

What happened next made me wonder if I'm fighting a losing battle. As I watched him in the full-length mirror in front of us, I couldn't believe what I was seeing: His pace began to slow, his eyes were closing ever so gradually, his head rested on his chest - and before I had chance to realise what was happening, he'd come to a standstill. He'd fallen asleep standing up!

Naturally, the conveyor belt carried on, taking him backwards until he fell off the end and landed on his backside.

"Uh, what happened?" he asked, with a puzzled look on his face.

"You nodded off," I told him, still trying to work out how anyone could fall asleep while walking on a treadmill.

I fear there is no hope whatsoever for the couch potato generation.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

THE Dad At Large Roadshow - called in as a last-minute substitute for the indisposed Mike Amos (I know my place) - found itself on the road towards High Force this week for a meeting of Newbiggin-in-Teesdale Women's Institute.

Kathleen Teward, author of Tiesdal En How T'was Spok'n - a collection of tales about the Teesdale dialect - was part of the excellent company on the top table.

She recalled the time a young boy who had just started at a Teesdale school unexpectedly returned home at lunchtime.

"As nut gannen back," he announced.

His mother explained repeatedly that he would have to go back because the teachers would be worried.

"As nut gannen back," the boy insisted.

"Why not?" asked his exasperated mother.

"As nut gannen back becos ah cannut write, en ah cannut read, en the winnet let me talk - see as just nut gannen."

A LITTLE further back, the roadshow visited High Hawsker WI, near Whitby...

PAT Bulmer came out of her kitchen to see if her three children were OK, just in time to hear Wendy say something she didn't quite catch, followed by "You nit."

"Don't call your brother names," Pat scolded Wendy.

Wendy put on an innocent face and pointed to the television. When mum looked closer it read: "Made by a BBC television film unit."

ELIZABETH Tindall remembered taking her grandson for a walk with her sheepdog Susie.

"Which part of her is a sheep?" asked the little boy.

EMMA, aged three, was watching grandma Dorothy Wilson make breakfast when she said: "My Mummy doesn't make toast like that, she sharpens it in the sink."