Now do forgive me if I have told this one before .... but yesterday was the 30th anniversary of the day I lost my virginity.
It's a salutory tale of teenage excess and one I tell the offspring every year in the hope they will keep their hands on their ha'pennies just a little bit longer. So far it has worked.
It was a boring evening at home when a friend rang to say that there was a party near me. I was 16 and desperate for fun, so, even though I did not know the party thrower, horror she was not even from my school! I decided to go, though I didn't bother to dress up, I just donned a pair of jeans, heels and a T shirt and off I went.
Lo and behold it was a very dull party. I slugged my bottle of Cinzano Bianco and debated going home, when a group of loud boys arrived.
Now in my defence, I was hell bent on losing my virginity before I was 17 and there was only 2 months left before I hit 17.
Also in my defence the boys were very good-looking and I actually knew them.
It was the rugby team from the boys' private school who were all 18 !!
Anyway after not very long, the notorious captain of the team made a beeline for me, ME, little FLAT chested me, (who had no hair after developing alopecia that year and was sporting a very classy NHS wig). That part of the story always makes the offspring well up.
After no more than a cursory chat and a bit of a drunken dance, he asked if I would like to see the stars come up from the nearest mountain in his mother's new Ford Capri.
I said yes.
As he drove off I was aware that he was driving remarkably fast along very windy narrow lanes and remarked through drunken hiccups that perhaps he should slow down. He threw his head back and laughed demonically and soon after that drove into a dry stone wall.
I remember feeling cold icy wind round my little bald pate, that's what brought me round. It seemed that my head had made friends with the windscreen and my feet were mangled in the leg room with bits of the engine.
It was silent.
After a while we both moved and I tried to brush the broken glass off my clothes.
It had begun to rain.
Anyway, Stephen, for that was his name, opened his car door and came around to mine.
Oh! I thought, how chivalours, he is coming to rescue me!
He opened my car door and began to undo his trousers.
Now I did think about saying my head and feet hurt rather a lot, but instead I scarmbled around my feet and found my WIG and plonked it back on as it was chilly and started to try and get my skinny jeans off, I was DETERMINED to lose my cherry even though the backdrop was not quite what I had envisaged.
Suffice to say, it was uncomfortable, unsexy and short.
Afterwards, he helped me out of his Mother's BRAND new ruined car and we hobbled to the nearest house and asked to use the phone. He hugged me in the rain and gave me his jumper which I thought was TRES TRES romantic.
Some of his mates came and picked us up and I managed to hobble into my house undetected by my parents. I wrote every single thing detail that I could remember in my LOCK UP diary.
Two days later I trekked back to the spot and took a piece of wing mirror and side light home to treasure in my keepsake box.
So ... anyone care to share their embarrassing teenage moments?
21 years later I found Stephen on the internet, now the head of some swanky legal firm in Hong Kong. I emailed him and we laughed about the whole thing.
His picture showed that he was now bald too. I liked this fact.