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This is a question Teenage Parties

Ah, the heady days when catering consisted of a crate of lager and some vodka illicitly extracted by whoever looked oldest, decoration consisted of removing any breakable furniture and the morning after was just the morning and not the rest of the week.

Tell us who you snogged, where you threw up and who just would not leave.

(, Thu 13 Apr 2006, 10:20)
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What ho chaps
Well, when I was 17 and had just scarpered off from Eton for the last time, I decided to venture out on the Grand tour, what. I popped over the Channel into France and gradually made my way down to Cannes just in time for the film festival There I met up with mumsy and a few other relatives.

At the opening night party a complete riot was had by all, except for the fact that Aunt Dahlia lost her shirt at baccarat and Angela nearly got inhaled by a shark while aquaplaning.

I don't know if you were at Cannes this summer. If you were, you will recall that anybody with any pretensions to being the life and soul of the party was accustomed to attend binges at the Casino in the ordinary evening-wear trouserings topped to the north by a white mess-jacket with brass buttons. I must admit I looked quite splendiferous.

Towards the end of the night, after toadying with all my chums and the notable dignitaries I began to feel amorous. Enter a complete stunner. She was tall, dark and sultry. I studied her in a profound reverie for the best part of two dry Martinis. As a matter of fact, it baffled me how she had not been seduced by my immediately apparent charms. My manly beauty and chiseled physique, my dashing attire and the complete lack of competition at the gathering should have caught her attention instantly. "Ho, she's playing dashed hard to get this one," I recall thinking to myself.

I must admit that by now I had imbibed several cocktails and, as it was quite late, a few snifters of brandy. Even so, I felt confident that her resolve would crumble in my immediate presence and I made to go up to her and engage her in conversation.

As I stood up to leave the table my very stylish jacket buttons caught my glass and tipped the contents over my groin. Unbeknownst to myself, it appeared that I had lost control of my bladder...

However, the dear lady didn't let on to this fact and I spent a good ten minutes talking to her before I caught a glance of myself in the mirror behind the bar (just to check that her attention was on me, don't cha know - not to check my appearance which is usually immaculate. I am not in the least bit vain. Everyone I ask tells me so)

Well, from the instant I saw what it must have looked like to her I turned a bright crimson and my small talk dried up like a prune. I made my excuses and left the party via the kitchens. I was so ashamed I didn't leave my hotel suite until it was time to travel to Monaco a week later!
(, Mon 17 Apr 2006, 20:36, Reply)

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