MY PAL'S not the emotional type, so we were stunned to see him wipe away a tear during a weekend family wedding. As the bride took her vows, my pal's granny reached over and gently touched grandpa's hand. "I was so moved by that tender gesture, granny," he told her, but the old girl snorted: "Sorry to ruin your moment, but I was just checking his pulse."

She's still a bit of a girl, is my pal's granny, and she was in her element at the reception, holding court surrounded by her extensive brood.

When the talk turned to the happy couple's impending luxury cruise, someone asked her: "Where did you and grandpa go on your honeymoon?"

Quick as a flash she told them: "Upstairs!"

Later, she and her cronies were bemoaning the impact on their pensions of daily rising shopping bills.

"I remember when you could get two big onions for a penny," said one, her cupped hands holding the imaginary veg. And they looked heavy.

"And that same penny would get you a great big thick cucumber," said another, spreading her arms to illustrate its length.

My pal's gran let out her trademark cackle. "I can't hear a word you two are saying," she said, pretending to adjust her hearing aid, "but I remember the chap you're talking about."

YES, still a bit of a girl. She says there are no new sins; the old ones just get more publicity these days.

Sex was a taboo subject in most homes when I was a teenager. It was the days of one family telly - as opposed to today, when there can be one in every room - and, while it was certainly more sociable, the occasional nudity on the box could lead to comic scenes worthy of any soap opera.

If the channel wasn't hurriedly changed, it was the cue for mum to put on the kettle and for dad to re-read his Evening Times, while my sisters May and Christine and me quietly chuckled at their embarrassment.

When one of our gang sported a smashing new watch, he said his parents had bought it after he had surprised them in the act.

My pal thought he'd have some of that, so that very night he burst in on his cavorting mum and dad.

"I wanna watch, I wanna watch!" he shouted.

"Okay," said his dad, "but just sit there and shut up."

I'm still shamefaced to admit my own teenage embarrassment on discovering that my mother and father still "did it". And they could only have been in their 50s at the time!

(Last week I told you mum and dad "did it" to produce me the day before the NHS was born. Dad's wee sister, Auntie Marjory, tells me from Perth, Western Australia, that my early arrival cost my mum a £25 NHS bonus!) I can tell you, and happily, that Betty and Jimmy Stirling were still getting it on as sexagenarians and beyond. And we should all be so lucky to sustain such a relationship (so that's why Uncle Dougie in Perth, Western Australia, has a glint in his eye?).

According to a 30-year British Medical Journal survey, couples over 70 are now having and enjoying sex more than any generation before them.

I just think successive generations are more prepared to speak about sex. But such talk got my pal's gran into big trouble.

She used to babysit for my pal, with the accent on "used to". Their son had been playing outside with his pals when he had a question for great gran: "What is it called when two people are sleeping in the same room and one is on top of the other?"

Great gran, never one to mince her words, as you now know, gave it to him straight.

"It's called sexual intercourse, young man."

The wee man thought about that and said: "Oh, okay," and went back to join his pals.

He was back indoors a few minutes later, and he was red-faced and fair upset.

"Great gran!" he cried. "It's not called sexual intercourse at all. It's called bunk beds!

"And wee Kylie's mum is wanting a word with you."