I don't understand boys - they do things like stand in rivers waiting for fish they know won't come

A large section of society seems to be very concerned about today's youth, and in particular the males of the species. Ever needy of simple answers and easy solutions, some of the rightwing press - apparently taking their lead from David Cameron (or is it the other way round?) - propose that these social problems can be solved by "forcing" parents to stay together, or docking their benefits if they can't. These are the most memorable suggestions among a handful of other equally silly notions, none of which come anywhere near to dealing with the fundamental reasons why some kids go off the rails while others don't. There are doubtless myriad, complex explanations, analysed by experts who have devoted their lives to studying these issues. But at what point do these troublemakers reveal their evil streak - and what do you do about it once you think you've spotted it?

Call me an over anxious, middle-class mum, but my eight-and-a-half-year old son looks very much, to me, like he's headed for a life of crime. The signs are all there. First, he's got that killer combination of stunning charm and breathtaking insouciance. No threat, not even to stop him playing for his beloved football team, elicits obedience. Second, he's a born performer - and not in a good way - though he is, it would seem, compelled to entertain whatever the circumstances. He shows all the makings of an actor, you might say, but actors aren't, generally speaking, emotionally balanced, intellectually challenging poster boys and girls, are they? Sometimes, of course, it's funny - you can't help but laugh when a little boy talks about things being "well nang" or "sick" or "bare" (none of these words' meanings bear any relation to their original definitions, by the way).

But I'm terrified, too, not of him but of how alien he is to me. My friends who have known me since I was his age just say, "Oh, he's just like you." That doesn't make me feel any better. In fact, it just makes me feel worse. Sure, I'm doing all right now, but I did my fair bit of law-breaking when I was a teenager - all my pals did. Just run-of-the-mill stuff like shoplifting (Biba was practically giving the stuff away, it was so easy there) and a bit of drug use. But that was me: this is my child, and he's a boy.

I don't understand boys - just ask my husband. They do things like stand around in rivers waiting for fish they know won't come. They arrange fights over the internet with people they've never met and have no argument with. For God's sake, some of them masturbate, en masse, on to biscuits - what collection of human beings even dreams up an activity as rococo as that? Wearing your hood up, your jeans so low most of your buttocks are on display and walking with a roll is positively tame after that.

My son is exposed to all the rights and wrongs in life, he is ignorant of his parents' youthful misdemeanours, he plays two instruments (after a fashion), eats vegetables, doesn't have a PlayStation or a Wii, and isn't allowed to watch commercial television. And yet he's still more "street" than I regard as entirely desirable. Some people reply to my worries with that tired old adage, "He's just a boy", as if that will dispatch all my fears. I don't think "boys will be boys" is an acceptable excuse in the 21st century. Testosterone overload isn't a disability. Never mind docking errant parents' benefits. How do the authorities (and I mean me) dock a boy's determination to be "well nang" above all else?

· New research by the BBC Trust reveals that viewers feel insufficient prominence is given to alternatives to reality TV shows. Hey, no kidding. Admittedly, I've done a few reality shows myself but you will have noticed, I trust, even if only subliminally, that I've stopped short of your Jungles, BBs and the rest of the long catalogue of more sordid, depressing shows and have only taken part in the more, shall we say, edifying ones. Last week I contributed to Mary, Queen of Shops, the BBC2 show where marketing guru Mary Portas saves failing shops. It was very good fun and Portas clearly knows her stuff. Uniquely, for a reality show (and this is what, I fancy, sets this kind of reality show apart from the grubbier ones), the director never once implored anyone to describe "how you are feeling right now".

One of the reasons reality TV shows are so phenomenally tedious is because they are mainly made up of people telling us how they are "feeling". How did you feel when Sir Alan said you couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery? How did you feel when you ate the kangaroo's testicle? How did you feel when Andrew said you had to be stripped of the coat of many colours by the other Josephs because your Joseph wasn't up to scratch? They might as well be asking: how did you feel when you realised your sense of self-worth was so reduced you would do absolutely anything to be on television? Why has everything got to be about feelings these days? In the old days, no one knew what anyone was feeling and, what's more, they weren't expected to.

I've just realised I sound a bit like a bloke. Feelings are another thing they don't traditionally do. Their ability not to "go there" when things get too feeling-y is another depth of theirs I can't fathom. And that's the one boy-skill I really wish I had. I cry at everything, even the length of the queue at Sainsbury's. A boy would never do that - he would charge it.

· This week Arabella went to the premiere of the Doctor Who Christmas special, Voyage of the Damned: "The best ever and my mate, David Tennant, is, as always, out of this world." Arabella started to read A Short Gentleman by Jon Canter: "Brilliantly witty."