Gap years are earned, just don't tell me about it

They call it a gap year. Some go and do charity work in a far-flung country. Others go to Australia and take a tour of the Neighbours set.

Either way, it's something I think I probably hate them for. Not that they haven't earned it, you understand. I'd doff my hat to them if I wore one and would be the first to admit there's not a chance in hell I could survive another A-level exam.

I'd go stark raving bonkers if I had to cram every single thing I know either about Maslow's hierarchy of needs (Business Studies: grade C, could do better) or examine the theme of betrayal in Marcel Pagnol's Jean de Florette (French: grade A, smart Alec or Alec l'astucieux) onto a few pages in legible handwriting.

After 13 years of formal education, school uniforms and headlines demeaning their achievements by claiming their exams were getting easier, I happen to think the 'yoof' deserve a bit of time out before starting work or university.

This is the last point in their entire lives that they will ever have truly disposable income.

Tuition costs, rent, bills and kids will one day wipe that out quicker than if they'd just met a dodgy scuba diving instructor who had nicked their bum bag while they were underwater staring at a fish that looked something out of Finding Nemo.

But however much I try to be happy for them about this new and exciting phase of their lives, I just can't be.

I'm too jealous of their freedom, even though I wouldn't go back to the final days of school or university for all the watered down Carling in the world.

It's not exactly as though my wife and I can just up sticks, book a ticket to Hanoi, then hang around on beaches drinking beer with New Zealanders while laughing at them because they actually want to visit the rainy country we've just left behind.

Mortgages and the like mean the next time I will get a chance to do something like that will be when I retire.

And thanks to advances in medical science that mean we're all living longer, the age at which we can afford to retire will rise and rise.

If it keeps going like this I'll probably be nearly 90 and have to start walking to the exit of the office two days before my leaving do so I can get there on my Zimmer frame.

If I did then decide to take a gap year between finishing work and claiming what's left of my winter fuel allowance (that's assuming we still have winters and that the Earth isn't just one massive molten rock by 2071) I doubt I'd have much fun with it.

I'd probably end up at the Full Moon Party, in Koh Phangan, Thailand, complaining about the volume of the music.

I'd be standing there on the beach in my shorts, insisting that the DJ turned it up because my hearing aid had stopped working.

Then I'd demand he stop playing this modern rubbish and stick on a classic like Gangnam Style or the best of LMFAO (I don't care what anyone says, Sexy and I Know It will stand the test of time).

So, teens, off you go. Off into the big wide world to get charged double and end up kissing complete strangers.

Go learn all about the I-Ching or take a one hour meditation class and call yourself a Buddhist.

While you're off bungee jumping or building orphanages in Africa, I've got plenty going on right here at home. Let's just check the diary.

Today I'm reading the water meter and logging on to the Severn Trent website. Then tomorrow I'm downloading the council's iPhone app to make sure the tips are still open. Good times.