If British grown-ups behave like drunken, foul-mouthed louts, then what hope is there for our kids?

THE bunch of drunken middle-aged Teessiders flying back from Amsterdam last Thursday aren't, of course, in any way responsible for the death of 11-year-old Rhys Jones.

And yet, in a small way, they are somehow part of the same bleak picture of modern Britain.

Like many cities, Amsterdam has its fair share of problems, but it still remains one of the friendliest, most relaxing cities in Europe. And not just because of the interesting smells drifting out of the cafes or in clouds across the Vondelpark.

Partly it's because it has less traffic in the city centre. Most Amsterdammers go everywhere by bike - old fashioned sit-up-and-beg bikes, with nothing glitzy or fashion-conscious about them. Mothers pedal along on bikes with a box in front, containing a couple of kids and a dog; old ladies cycle with arms full of flowers, young men and women cycle while chatting on mobiles, and whiz kid lawyers pedal along in formal court dress.

And when idiot English tourists step out in front of them, they don't curse, but laugh good humouredly and only slightly pityingly. It's a city where tolerance, by and large, works.

In a recent stay I didn't encounter a single instance of rudeness. No children whingeing or shouting. No parents getting angry. No off-hand waiters or station staff. In shops, bars and canal side cafes, everyone was smiling and welcoming. And unfailingly courteous.

Until we got the airport...

On the shuttle bus taking us across the tarmac to our plane was a group of Teesside's finest. Middle-aged men - middle-aged, mind you - who, I guess had been working in Kuwait, Dubai or somewhere similar and had a stopover in Schipol on the way back.

They had clearly whiled away their time by drinking and were as drunk as skunks. Most of them were good natured enough, if incredibly noisy, but two men in particular were vile. Oblivious to all the other passengers, they shouted and bellowed in loud drunken voices and every other word - literally - was an obscenity. Just the sorts you want to be trapped on a bus with.

They had no thought for anyone else, no consideration, not even an acknowledgement that anyone else might be near them. They were completely wrapped up in their own worlds with no idea that they owed anything to anyone else - not even common courtesy. And these weren't feckless youths, but men mainly in their 40s. Presumably otherwise respectable, hard working men. But aggressive in their selfishness.

An elderly Dutch couple looked puzzled and then apprehensive. I wanted to apologise to them for this loutish behaviour by my fellow countrymen.

If the grown-ups behave like this, then what hope for the kids?

Welcome home. Welcome back to England.

And they wonder why people are leaving.

WASN'T it wonderful? On Saturday I sat out in the garden and just luxuriated in the sun. Feeling that heat on skin was a really weird sensation as it was only the second time I'd done that this year - and the last time was way back in April.

That was so long ago that this felt like the first sun of the year, fixing my mental and body clock somewhere round early May, so it was a bit of shock to realise it's nearly September and shops are full of school uniforms.

Don't know if we're due any more sunny days. But if so, forget work and make the most of them. After such a miserable summer, it will be bound to be a long winter.

THE BBC received 30 complaints over newsreader Emily Maitlis showing her calves on the Ten O'Clock News, as viewers were overcome by a sudden rush of Victorian sensitivity at the thought that women - gosh, pass me the smelling salts - might have legs.

But they might have a point to complain, or where will it end - a bare-chested Paxman or Huw Edwards in Speedos?

And ever since those pictures of a semi-naked Russian President Putin out fishing, I'm not at all looking forward to Gordon Brown's holiday snaps.

PS on Oldies...

WE recently considered all the fun things that a new generation of pensioners was finding to do. And to add to that, we were delighted with four pieces of news this week

New research showing many pensioners having active sex lives well into their 80s;

As if to prove it, 90-year-old Nanu Ram Jogi became a father for the 21st time at the age of 90;

Far from being technical duffers, the over-65s are now using the internet nearly as much as teenagers;

Radial Velocities in the Zodiacal Dust Cloud might not be such a snappy title as Bohemian Rhapsody, but more than 30 years after he chucked in his studies to strut his stuff on stage, Brian May, guitarist with Queen, has finally got his PhD at the age of 60.

Life begin at 40? Closer to 60 perhaps - because even after that, it's clear that there's a whole lot of living still to do.