My 17th birthday party was a train crash. My parents insisted on giving me a lovely bigto do,and happilyit coincided with the wrap party for a play that we were performing at my London School “Troilus and Cressida”. Wonderful, the parents thought…perfect timing, a party that will be attended by thoroughly thoughtful, articulate andaspiring, shakespearean actors. They did not however anticipate the sheer drama ofa 2 day humdinger,as opposed tothe 4 hours of sherry sipping thatthey had reckoned on,the meaningless and depraved song-writing scrawled on their silk adorned walls, the attempted drunken suicide by “Lindy” in the Thames becauseJameshad dumpedher(this is thegirl that first boyfriend used toyell out for when we were going at it), my surprisingloss of virginity, which they nearly had tickets for,and theacute need to lock themselves in their bedroom with thesalukifor 15 hours, for fear of they didn’t know what. Oh dear me…I never had another party athome. I wasn’t allowed; actually I moved out not long afterwards so that I could have another one and trash my own place abovethe chemist in the New Kings Road.
My sister’s 21st wasn’t much better, she hadn’t been alloweda party at all, they left it until she was 21. No Shakespearan nutters ather party they supposed, but little did they know, that for a good few months afterwardsthe willie from the serene, stone cherub in the pond, was missing. They only realisedit was gone when they eventually put the water on(willie = water fountain)but of course, there was nowhere forthe waterto come out of!