Mike Priestley: Who's Counting?

If advice is sought, give it freely but not forcefully. If it isn't sought, stay schtum.

That's the way it has to be if you don't want to risk falling out with your son or daughter who, rightly, are the primary decision-makers in matters concerning their child's life.

If you say "Well, we used to do it this way" or, even worse, "Don't you think it would be better to do it that way?", you'll soon get cool looks. You have to devise very subtle ways of getting your views across without seeming pushy or causing offence.

But there's another reason for keeping your advice to yourself. When we brought our children up in the late 1960s and through the 1970s, it was in different times. That was a kinder age when people, by and large, behaved considerately towards each other. Those who acted assertively, getting what they wanted and to hell with everyone else, were rather frowned upon by the "peace and love" generation.

But the world has moved on, and the qualities of meekness and selflessness which we tried to instil into our younger generation are likely to be a definite handicap in the brave new millennium we are about to enter.

Which is why, when young grandson Sam "gets a strop on", as they say, I have two good reasons for not speaking too sternly to him. Not only would it get me into trouble, but it might also discourage him from sticking up for what he wants.

And Sam gets a strop on quite frequently. It's his way, at 16 months old and of very independent mind, of letting us know that he would really rather do what he wants to do than what we want him to do.

For example, when he comes to visit us he has taken to going for an amiable amble along the pavement to the end of the road then coming back again, looking at various things along the way - trees, flowers growing on wall tops, stop-tap covers, pebbles...that sort of thing.

He does this under close supervision but refuses to hold your hand (too much of an infringement of his independence). And he likes to do it in his own time.

If you try to turn him round before he's reached the end of the road, or if you pick him up and carry him back to the house because you have something else that needs to be done, he protests loudly. And sometimes he even hits out angrily.

Here's the dilemma. In generations gone by, parents would do their best to teach their children that not only do you not hit out at people when things don't go your way, but you don't shout, whine, grizzle and throw yourself around either. You behave politely and put others first.

The rules have changed. Hitting out still isn't to be tolerated and deserves the sternest of warnings. But other demonstrations of displeasure surely are no bad thing. They're a sign of assertiveness, and in the brave new world of tomorrow, the world in which young Sam will have to make his way, those who thrive and perhaps even survive will be the assertive ones.

This new rule book is a hard thing for an old hippy granddad to come to terms with. But needs must, for the lad's sake.

l A poetic threesome from Idle and Thackley Heritage Group have followed up their 1998 book of "Idle Thoughts" poems with a cassette by the same name. Bill Maskew, Rita Ward and Graham Banks read their work - 26 poems in total - with enthusiasm and good humour, bringing to life aspects of local life in times past as well as casting whimsical eyes over the present.

It's a largely nostalgic collection which will appeal to the Who's Counting? generation wherever they might live, but obviously will be enjoyed most by those who have connections with Idle and the surrounding area. This is volume 1. Volume 2 is in preparation.

Copies are available from the newsagents' shops in Bradford Road and on The Green, price £2.50, and from the Heritage Group which meets on the first Thursday morning of every month in the Baptists' Church Hall.

I Don't Believe It!

A real mixed bag of grumbles this week, starting off with a broadside from Ann Hardaker, of Saltaire, about horse muck in public places.

"There are notices all over the place about dog fouling, but nothing about horses," she says. "The bridge from Roberts Park to Saltaire village was covered with it the other day. It was a filthy mess. And there's a lot more of it than there is when a dog does it."

A very good point, Ann. I think the popular view is that because horse muck is more or less composted vegetable material and not quite as offensive as dog dirt, it doesn't matter about having it lying about for people to step in.

But it still smells, it's still unhygienic, and it still makes a mess of your shoes.

Personally, Mrs Mildew and I are of the opinion that neither dogs nor horses should be allowed out without wearing some sort of nappy. And if that isn't going to happen (which I admit is unlikely), then horse riders should have to carry a shovel and a sturdy polythene bag and keep looking over their shoulder to see if their animal has dropped anything that needs clearing up.

All the mucking about there's been over supplies of utilities since the market was opened up can be very confusing.

I had a letter the other day from Mrs E West, who reckons she was telephoned one evening by someone who said they were from Scottish Gas, and would she please read her meter for them.

"My gas meter is under the sink," reports Mrs West. "I have never had to look at it. It's so dark under there. I am elderly and with not much sight left. The young lady had to give up.

"What are they doing out there to us people in our late age? When is all this nonsense going to stop, selling off our gas and electric?"

Don't ask me, Mrs West. I don't understand it any more than you do. But I do think it's wrong that a company can ring people up in this way, without knowing anything about their circumstances, and worry them.

And lastly, Mrs Dorothy Stringer follows up a previous letter with a retrospective attack on Margaret Thatcher. The "Iron Lady" upset a lot of people when she was Prime Minister and has still left a lot of bitterness lingering on all these years later. Mrs Stringer isn't going to easily forgive her.

"She promised to make this a country to be proud of, flowing with milk and honey," she writes. "Instead it started flowing with sour milk and phoney. The milk was what she took from children when she was Minister for Education in 1973, earning her the name of Milk Snatcher. The phoney was what her promises became when she insulted senior citizens by giving a 40p rise, which didn't buy a loaf of bread."

Britain's pensioners have long memories. Today's politicians should remember that.

If you have a gripe about anything, drop a line to me, Hector Mildew, c/o Newsroom, T&A, Hall Ings, Bradford BD1 1JR, email me or leave any messages for me with Mike Priestley on (44) 0 1274 729511.

Yours Expectantly,

Hector Mildew

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