A cold climate surrounds talk of love today.

Byline: David CHARTERS

AN old friend and colleague, who was researching for an article on sex education, sloped up to me in the corridor with a question eager to slip through her pursed lips.

``When do you think they should start teaching it?'' she whispered, looking to her left and right to ensure that our words would not reach snooping ears.

``Ah, you mean hanky-panky-behind-the-shed and that sort of thing,'' I said, demonstrating an uncharacteristically healthy and modern approach to the subject. Shenodded gravely, while puckering her chin in a world-weary manner.

``Well,I would say in the case of the male,not before 37. I have always maintained that a chap should have seen a bit oflife, grappled withafew quadratic equations or crossed the Gobi desert on a yak,beforehe embarks on a garter -snapping spree,'' I said. ``Perhaps a little earlier than that,'' opined my friend, who's the wisest agony aunt you could ever wish for, ``but I think you are right in principle. You don't want to deny children their years of innocence. Sex education should wait abit. ``And now the LiberalDemocrats at their annual conference have voted in favour of compulsory sex lessons for seven-year -olds,'' she added. I shook my head in sympathy. ``Soon a baby will hardly be able to issue his introductory belchbeforea sex teacher will spring into view in the delivery room carrying a questionnaire,'' I added. Do you know where you have just been and furthermore do you know how you got there in the first place? Comeon now, answer!

It occurs to me, though, that the giraffe, who is reputed to have a smallbrain,and would not at first glance appear tohavebeen ideally sculpted for slap-and-tickle,can do it quite successfully without recourse to books,diagrams and reference to the mating habits of the dung beetle; whereas the human, who is reputed to havea bigbrain,often makes suchamess of it,despite years of teaching and step-by-step demonstrations on almost every TVdrama.

I think here also of the toad, a veritable Casanovaof the mossy places. In my childhood, though,one was encouraged to baseone's future sexual ambitions on the performances of the banana fly. The banana fly, it seemed, was a master between the sheets and if humans were sensible enough to follow his example, our species need not fear thefuture.

A picture would form in my mind of Belinda, a siren among bananaflies, standing before her full length mirror, stretching a strip of red silk from her suspender belt and over her black thong to her comely white thighs and then to the dark and mysterious top of her stockings. ``That should excite some passion in Ferdinand,'' she purrs to her friend Gwladys,a trusty if rather less flighty bananafly.

Meanwhile back on the leaf, Ferdinand is combing his hair in the reflection from a raindrop,as the musky,masculine aroma of an new after-shave lotion rises from his chin. ``I think I'm on tonight Bill,'' he calls to his friend, who is planning a night out on the lager with the boys from the plantation.

``You want to watch that one, Ferdy,'' replies Bill, tapping a finger on his right nostril. ``I've come across her type in my time. It's allkisses,cuddles and candy at the beginning. But if you don't watchit, she'llhaveher hooks into you and then, before you know it, she'll be wanting a house and a big wedding for all thefamily. Next thing, you'll be mowing the lawn and washing the dishes and straightening the pictures and wearing a pinny -when you're not pushing the pram, that is.

Remember our old saying -flies flap-in where beetles fear to tread.'' Ferdinand looks deep into the raindrop and wonders if there is wisdom in these words. Of course, the sex education of today is all about condoms and other forms of contraception, sexually -transmitted diseases, same-sex relationships, incest etc. I suppose our children will eventually need to know about such things, although one might ask if years of ``progressive'' sex education has been of much benefit to this society.

My own seven-year-old son asks all the usual questions,but for the present I prefer to tell him of love and loyalty and romance.

Romance is central to all this. I like to see boys and girls holding hands at the bus-stop when darkness falls on a night of promise. Later there is the kiss at the garden-gate beneath the slow orange glow of the street lamp and then love runs through their veins, all the way down to the finger-tips. These days peopledon't talk of romantic love,even the women's magazine stories have been beefed up to include torrid scenes of nudity to thrill Gertie,as she sucks feverishly on her extra strong mints on the train home. But if you want to remember how it was,may I suggest you curl up on the couch with a volume of F Scott Fitzgerald's short stories.

That was when the breath of love was warm.