Far from falling silent, football fans used applause to pay their respects to George Best - and it was both honest and highly apt.

I'M with the football fans on this one - the fans who clapped for a minute to celebrate the life and talent of George Best. It was a nice, honest sort of gesture and seemed more appropriate than the minute's silence, much less mawkish than all those shirts and scarves and flowers. And much more generous than those who barely waited for the breath to leave his body before they started on the attack.

George Best's faults were certainly many and various. No-one disputes or denies that. They were well documented while he was alive and will no doubt be part of history's verdict on him. The fact that he was a talented footballer doesn't forgive or excuse what he did.

But when someone has died, it seems only right to dwell on the good things, on their talents and what made them special, remember the pleasure they gave to people - in George's case, hundreds and thousands of strangers - rather than the pain they inflicted on those close to them.

There used to be a convention that you didn't speak ill of the dead. Well that's long gone. Seems simple good manners and humanity to me - or at least to wait until after the funeral.

RESEARCHERS at Glasgow Caledonian University were given £40,000 to investigate whether drinking too much gives you a hangover and affects the way you perform the next morning.

The study into the absolutely obvious was funded by the Alcohol Education and Research Council.

Clearly whoever signed the cheque must have had a skinful the night before.

What parents should ponder

INVENTORS have created pyjamas which mimic the sensation of being hugged. They are apparently aimed at the growing number of children whose parents can't be with them at bedtime.

Someone else has designed a teddy-shaped mobile phone for four-year-olds. It has just four buttons and is tuned in directly to a parent's mobile.

Increasing numbers of ten and eleven-year-olds are smoking cannabis and are more likely to suffer from schizophrenia as a result.

Only a quarter of children take part in a team sport.

All those are random items from yesterday's newspapers. Also on the news pages were details of new research that shows that one in ten toddlers apparently suffers from psychiatric problems. And that increasing numbers of young teenagers are showing the first signs of cirrhosis of the liver because they eat too much and don't take enough exercise.

See any connection?

Parenting has never been easy, and in recent years it's certainly got harder. But if there's ever been a time to stop and have a long hard look at the way we're bringing up our children, now seems to be it.

A practical view

of pensions

AS someone whose private pension won't even keep me in slimline tonics in my old age, let alone gin, I feel particularly bitter towards public sector employees who will be able troll off into the sunset at the ridiculously early age of 60, while the rest of us will probably have to work even longer to pay them to do nothing.

But instead of tinkering round with age, why don't we allocate state pensions on the number of years worked? If we all had to work for, say 45, years - making allowances for child rearing and caring - it means that those who started work at 16, and were more likely to do the heavier, manual jobs, could go at 61, while those with degrees who didn't start until later will work on until 67 or longer.

And we'd still all be better off than our grandparents, for whom a working life of 50 years and more was the norm - if they lived that long. Seems fair to me. Or is it just too simple?

I DIDN'T know Margaret Proud of Darlington, but I think I might have liked her. She died last week aged 85, according to the notice in this paper, "whilst on a dancing holiday in Scotland".

I think that's called making the most of life to the very last moment. A great example to us all.

WOMEN'S right to dress as provocatively as they like reminded an American friend of his first visit to Newcastle. He was desperately embarrassed and uneasy to be taken, as he thought, through the red light district.

Only it wasn't. It was just the Bigg Market on a Friday night.

Funny the impression you can make if you're not careful.

Published: 30/11/2005