The Commons health committee yesterday took evidence from a dozen teenagers, whom they asked about sex education, sex problems, sex advice and, while they were on the subject, sex.

It's the kind of occasion that can be a toe-curling, buttock-clenching, bowel-loosening embarrassment, which of course is why I went along.

As I arrived an earnest young man was demanding gay sex education from gay sex teachers. The young persons had other requests, including full-time sex educators, text messaging services ("If I can get texts on how my football team is doing, why not sex advice?") plus free condoms and bus fares to sex clinics.

The MPs nodded earnestly at all this and smiled the glassy smiles of Old Persons in the presence of Young Persons, who can be allowed to say anything they like and still receive encouraging nods.

Some of the Young Persons belonged to the National Youth Parliament, which is full of the kind of people who, in 20 years or so, will be in the real parliament, asking similar questions to Young Persons yet unborn. They have all the patter, about "peer research", "receiving input", and "summarising key positions".

Yet in spite of this there was a tremendous gulf between the legislators and some of these eager Young Persons. Simon Burns, one of the two Tories on the committee, was told that some schools won't let girls who have just had sex out of lessons in order to buy the morning-after pill.

"Can't they tell their parents, over breakfast?" he asked. As a shout of laughter came up from MPs and Young Persons alike, I yearned for him to add: "or at least have a word with the butler".

And then there was Sarah. Sarah is 18, and comes from Wakefield. She is a big lass with a confident, even forceful manner, and an ability to dominate everyone within 100 yards.

Sarah is a type I know well from my northern childhood, a woman who takes no nonsense from men, who quail before her tread. Ena Sharples was the template, but they still churn them out as fast as they once produced rolls of worsted in Wakefield. She could devour a bunch of nervous MPs as easily as she would down a bag of chips.

Sarah hardly stopped talking. The other Young Persons fell silent as she described her contempt for all forms of sex instruction. "I remember because when I was 13 on the street with my bottle of cider, and phoning, and it said 'Sex Line!' and I said, 'Ha, ha, sex line!' and rang off."

As for using the internet, "they can't access that at school because sex is bad and you can't get anything if it says 'sex', unless they're using it at home, and I know my Dad can access everything I do on the internet, and he willingly reads my emails".

Mr Burns tried again. "When you talk about sex, do you mean 'snogging' or, er, sexual intercourse?"

Sarah flipped him aside. "Snogging's not a big thing any more. It used to be if you went out and you snogged a bloke it would be, like, 'Yes! I snogged a bloke!' but now you snog a bloke, then it's 'I've snogged another bloke' and, 'yes, I've slept with a bloke'."

She warmed up. "I knew a bloke; he'd slept with 50 people, and the 50th was on his 17th birthday. Well, it's not big and it's not hard."

The temptation to say, "but surely it must be?" was immense, and resisted. However, I did notice that the committee's warm, helpful smiles became more fixed and glassy and their expressions definitely queasy as Sarah upped sticks and marched her troops out of the room.

That woman will govern us all soon, if she can spare the time.