WHEN I was a teenager, it was commonplace for adults to shake their heads at the state of modern youth and observe that a spell in the Army might work wonders.

Peering through a coal scuttle hairstyle, the adolescent Phillpott would rub a spot-encrusted chin - ghastly image - and view such sentiments with contempt. Then, as now, I held the view that the problem was not so much to do with how youngsters acted, rather it was about how they looked.

If you could somehow miraculously summon up a picture of me in all my 60s dandification, I promise that your corsets would be immediately ruptured with hilarity.

Let me give you a glimpse of horror butcher's stripe trousers, two-tone French brogues, orange cycling shirt topped off with green leather jacket with a fur collar - this formed a vision of unloveliness that was nightly unleashed on an unsuspecting populace.

However, such monstrosities were the limits of our outrage.

Vandalism was almost unknown, fights were fought relatively fairly and, apart from occasional drunkenness and drug-taking, public order was maintained.

The other major factor was this - we all had jobs. These regulated not only our conduct but our energy levels, too. Now, the problem is not youths' appearance, it's what they do.

For underlying our modern-day ills is the fact that too many boys are under-employed. And yes, I may be parroting any number of great-aunts, but the fact is that the Devil does make work for idle hands.

At some stage, a future government will have to tackle youth disorder and mean it. No, I'm not in favour of a return to national service. But I do believe that some form of compulsory citizenship training might go a long way in civilising the type of unpleasant young men we now see in increasing numbers on Worcester's streets.

* CHRISTMAS is drawing ever nearer and women will soon be dropping barn-sized hints to their men about jewellery. In the light of that, let me share this one with you.

My wife and I were being shown around a diamond-cutting factory in Antwerp's jewellery quarter. Examples of the finished product were also for sale, stunning creations that each cost more than a detached house.

I pointed to a clasp that had a £435,000 price tag and jokingly asked my wife if she'd like it. This was noticed by a power-dressed woman who asked with po-faced seriousness: "Would sahr end moddum like me to arrange finance?" I thanked the assistant but had to inform her that we already owned loads of the stuff so wouldn't require any more. And then left.

*DOWN on Worcester's South Quay, the old man they call Spoons sits and watches the world go by. The Upton Jazz Festival legend gazes myopically past the swans and into some middle distance of his imagination. Whenever I see him, I am reminded of my favourite poet, W H Davies. What is this life, if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare *YOU might think that some of the over-wordy job descriptions for councillors who are cabinet members are a bit much.

However, I've come round to the view that anything that defines a role is not such a bad idea, after all. In this case, the proof of the pudding usually turns out to be the eating.