OF course it went perfectly. You didn't expect anything else, did you? There was split second timing, soaring singing, polished boots, everything organised, disciplined, immaculate and controlled. Britain at its most splendidly efficient.

Ho ho, said the commentators - if this country can organise a funeral like that, why do we make such a dogs' dinner of our railways, our hospitals, just about everything else in fact.

Well, here's a clue. A large part of yesterday's success relied on military precision. Not just the actual soldiers and guardsmen involved in the ceremony, but the ex-soldiers of the royal household who had their part in the organisation.

The services work on discipline, hierarchy, accountability and responsibility - all seriously mocked in the outside world.

Yes I know, the military can occasionally get things gloriously wrong and in triplicate. My brother-in-law, the bomb disposer, could tell you stories to make your hair curl. But there is still a chain of command, a sense that the end result is more important than the feelings of the individuals who have to get on and get the job done.

Get the services in and you know things are going to get done properly, whether it's an invasion, a royal funeral, dealing with floods or disposing of a few hundred thousand dead cattle. Or, come to that, pouring the perfect pink gin.

During husband's chaotic stay in hospital last year, the one nurse you could really rely on to take responsibility and get the job done was ex-RAF. Coincidence maybe...

The youngest of those pall bearers was 18 years old. Not an age noted for its attention to detail, its ability to do as it's told, and, if necessary, to practise something over and over again to get the split second timing right - 12 hours a day for the past week in the case of those Irish guardsmen. The choristers too, know what hard work is. Choir schools do their best to make life fun, but there is still an enormous amount of work and discipline of rehearsals that would have most other ten year olds on the phone to Childline.

The Queen Mother's funeral was a brilliant example of what we can do when we try. There are lessons there for rescuing our increasingly ramshackle public services. Or we could just hand the whole lot over to the Household Cavalry and the Choirmaster of Westminster Abbey.

Glastonbury's gone corporate. The great music festival in the mud - a celebration of egalitarianism, where in really bad years, both audience and performers have ended up bedecked in bin bags - is now offering £4,000 door-to-door helicopter rides to by-pass the queue of hippy camper vans, as well as offering proper food in a sealed off mud-free marquee. (But will they still get the hash brownies as well as the lentil'n'dirtburgers?)

This isn't sharing the Glastonbury experience. This is the toffs paying to look at the peasants from a safe distance. Bit like the old days of Bedlam really.

What next - designer mud?

CHILDREN as young as 12 and 13 are regularly getting seriously drunk, smashed out of their still not-quite fully-formed skulls, says a new report by the Joseph Rowntree Foundation.

Parents of young teenagers who have known and worried about this for years, battled on as well as we could, but felt powerless to do anything about it.

While drugs deaths hit the headlines, they still affect a minority of young people. The major danger to children today comes from drink, a fact we seem reluctant to recognise.

Just because adults enjoy a drink or two or more, does not make it safe for our children. So what are we going to do about it?

WORKING mothers are stressed out because they are not getting enough sleep, says a new report.

Look, I know new babies keep you awake at night. Then, just when they stop needing a middle-of-the-night feed, they start teething. Then, small children get ill or have nightmares or climb into bed with you at two in the morning and you wonder if you'll ever, ever get a decent night's sleep.

Well, if you're a mother with a screaming baby, make the most of it. At least you know where they are.

Just wait will you've got teenagers out on the razz or, worse, out in their first car.

Then you'll really know about sleepless nights.

Published: 10/04/2002