SEX education. Now, let me think back ... My school was really on the ball in these matters. So much so that I can vividly recall the lesson in which the ever-so sensitive subject was covered.

Or maybe I should say touched upon. For, if I remember rightly, it came fleetingly in a fourth-year biology lesson, hurriedly referred to in between the distinctly less embarrassing sex life of chrysanthemums and the reproductive habits of mice. Or something like that.

I know there was a diagram in the text book, showing male and female genitalia - with words alongside that brought sniggers from various quarters. But it wasn't explained in any detail.

It didn't matter. As 15-year-olds we knew it all anyway and were more interested in playing with the Bunsen burners and speculating as to whether our teacher, a middle-aged bachelor who was obviously uncomfortable with the task in hand, had ever 'done it'. We concluded that he hadn't and would probably be taking the book home to swot up that very night.

So if my knowledge of sex didn't come from school, where did it come from? Certainly not from my parents. They never mentioned the S-word. Despite the fact that in the village where I grew up I mostly hung around with boys.

I played tennis with them, went cycling with them, even went off on dawn to dusk outings up the hills with them. Anything could have happened. But it didn't. At least nothing beyond the odd snog behind the cricket pavilion - nothing that could be described as sex.

My girlfriends and I used to talk about who we fancied, and who we'd like to end up with after the village hall disco. But, as young teenagers, we balked at the thought of anything further.

We joked about going 'all the way'. Even at that age, sex was something that grown-ups did - yet never talked about.

Back to the question, how did I learn about the birds and the bees? It wasn't from teenage magazines. In those days we read Princess Tina and other extremely tame comics for young girls, with insights into favourite pop stars and Grange Hill-style photo stories. There were no semi-pornographic teen magazines with sections on DIY Karma Sutra and fruit-flavoured condoms.

So who did tell me that I wasn't delivered by a stork? I really don't know. All I know is that I knew what went where from a very early age and so do most children.

Somehow, we work it out for ourselves, stemming from those days in the paddling pool when, as toddlers, we point at each other's bits. Animals instinctively know what to do, and so do we.

With that in mind, it should have come as no surprise to the Government to learn that, despite concerted efforts to educate youngsters about sex, three out of four underage mums know the full facts, methods of contraception and all, before they become pregnant.

Now they are ploughing £60 million into even more sex education, starting with the slogan "Sex, are you thinking about it enough?"

What a waste of cash - you can't teach children anything they don't already know.

Wouldn't it be better to tone it all down - the mumbles of embarrassed teachers didn't do my generation any harm.

You never know, if sex isn't rammed down their throats, children might not do it so much.

So that's why I feel so old! Continuing the subject of sex, apparently indulging three times a day keeps you looking young. A study by a top neuropsychologist involving 3,500 people aged between 18 and 102 revealed that couples who make love this many times look seven years younger than their less romantically inclined counterparts.

I'm 39, but look 59 and feel 99.

That must tell people a lot about my sex life.