My Daughter had a “Sesh” last night, outside with 4 of her friends. After pestering Mrs T for an age I’d imagine, before she was forced to capitulate if only for a quieter life, allowing said Sesh to go ahead. I found out about the Tesh in a moment of weakness or when I’d let my guard down, agreed and then found myself in the Booze aisle of Tescos buying grown up drinks for kids who have spent the last year when they are meant to be growing up, watching their screens and giving themselves the impression that they have grown up, when all they’ve done is grown older. Old enough for booze, but still young enough to expect me to pay for it!

5 kids in a back garden, watched on by bad adults with a suspect behavioural record at school and University. These kids are 18 for goodness sake, and I’d rather they did what they were doing next to being under my roof rather than next to being under someone else roof somewhere else. So it was that we were made custodians of 5, nearly 18 and 18 year olds, keeping an eye on them by being a slightly “cool, slightly weird and thoroughly embarrassing Dad” occasionally popping my head out to ensure they hadn’t  lade the contents of their stomach all over the new patio furniture. Things took a turn for the worse later on, but not too later on when a very small slight Girl, started being sick, wretching in the still night air, differentiated from the call of the ever present pheasant in so many different ways, slightly more shrill and literally more throaty. Music, Wretching, and Laughing, the Holy Trinity of a night out coupled with drinking games seemed to be going down and under the half dozing but still watchful eye of yours truly it was decided by who ever made the call that it might be a good idea for everyone to move on, to go home, not many hours after it had started. Job done, and having spent an unreasonable amount on logs for the fire pit, was pretty pleased to see them unscorched.

As is so often the case in the morning after the night before, I snuck out early, to check on the potential carnage outside. On the table, the usual register of ne’er do wells for young adults playing at being sophisticated. Passion Fruit Vodka (Absolutions, classy) Tescos Vodka (full and cheaply purchased by me) A dribble of Lambs spiced Dark Rum left (Pleased my daughter has a fondness for a relatively niche outlying drink, her individuality betraying her fondness to dress, of late, like someone from a reality TV show). Then a small Bottle of Magnums Tonic Wine. Never heard of this stuff but my immediate thought was it was the stuff the Tok tun drivers drunk in Thailand drank to keep themselves awake for days while maintaining the fares, a drink laced with amphetamines, and caffeine. But no, closer inspection revealed it came from the Caribbean,”Original Jamaican Recipe” a dark Rum Bedfellow or maybe some sort of Cannabis tonic, with its faint Rasta coloured label. Google sorted the issue, apparently it was withdrawn from the shelves of Tescos because it increases sexual prowess and longevity, making everybody who drinks it a porn star, either that or rendering them drunk so they can’t remember consenting, which led me to a brief worry about it being associated with Rohypnol. But my worries unfounded, apparently it was just in  the advertising, the boost in sexual potency a damp squib, everyone thinks they’re sexier after a drink, that’s probably how I got here if I’m honest…

Anyway on with the Table of Shame, or “Shable” for fans of abbreviation, efficiency and the evolution of language, many unfinished glasses of (I suspect) “Coke with my Rum”, like in that song Fake ID, No cigarettes, no spliffs, the bags of the most expensive logs in the world unopened, and half a pint of sick in a cup and a smattering on the floor too. Pizza for supper I see. Anyway my daughter can hose that off. 

The moral of the story? Is there one? Just keep an eye on things I guess, i’d rather the kids were here next to being under my roof than anywhere else, and in the present climate then long may that be the case.