A Thirteenth Birthday Party (1982)

"Matty is fingering Helen in the bathroom."

I wasn't exactly sure what this meant, but I could guess. The last time I'd seen Helen she'd been sprawled on the floor between two boys, her tights around her ankles.

Alcohol was the main reason that Kaz's thirteenth birthday party had descended into this orgy of snogging (and now fingering, if Paul's report was to be believed). Gaz Brown's demijohn of home brew to be precise. Not to mention the bottles of 20-20 and cans of lager smuggled under the other boys' jackets.

The high boy to girl ratio, also made for an unusual atmosphere. Kaz had only bothered to invite three other girls, and so we could take our pick of the pimply adolescents on offer. Flitting like a butterfly from flower to flower, I eventually settled on Paul's lap. The best kisser by far: I enjoyed the urgency of his probing tongue and the accidental scrape of his teeth against mine. I snogged him until my lips went numb.

How very different to Kaz's twelfth birthday party, which had been for little girls only: with Vimto, cheese footballs, cake and jelly. It had been a very competitive fancy dress party. Invited as an after-thought, I'd gone as Hazel O'Connor, wearing my ordinary everyday clothes, plus a slick of my mum's eyeliner. The other mothers' faces had registered amusement, embarrassment and then pity as they looked at me. I was used to it. The other girls, dressed as princesses, cats and bunnies, had never even heard of Hazel O'Connor. Suffice to say: I didn't win.

This latest party was a turning point for many of us. A loss of innocence. No less for Kaz's mum and dad: who looked devastated as they emptied what was left of Gaz's home brew down the sink and turfed us all out into the night.