Daughter is off to her first disco tonight, well at least her first 'proper' one, meaning one where real live boys will also be present.

As she goes to an all-girls school she sees this as an opportunity to be what she calls normal.

She and her friends have been looking forward to it all week and there have been masses of telephone calls to discuss all the related and vitally important issues, such as what colour nail varnish to wear, how one should do one's hair and the like.

I have hovered in the background desperately asking for what daughter thinks is non-essential information such as, exactly whose house are you going to after school to get ready? What time do I need to pick you up? And where exactly is this disco anyway?

Daughter airily told me she would "sort it out".

Knowing her skills in this direction, I was getting increasingly desperate. In the end, I threatened to ban her from going unless I was given these details.

I remember my first disco in the local Scout hut. I spent ages getting ready and feeling great in my jeans and top but then feeling totally upstaged by a much cooler friend who had persuaded her mum to buy her some knee- length boots and a black and white mini skirt and waistcoat ensemble.

This friend could dance confidently, which is a major skill at 13, and appeared to be quite at home chatting to boys.

I spent most of the night with a few friends in the toilets discussing who we would talk to if we dared and trying to decide if we should dance to the next record.

It was also the night I fell in love with Jes Maudsley, the son of the local taxi firm owner. He had black eyebrows and blond hair, a combination that had me absolutely smitten.

Jes and his brother were two of the cool boys from our village and certainly didn't deign to talk to me, being three years younger.

I lusted after him from afar during all my teenage years and dreamt about us meeting up as adults.

I did see him on one of my visits to the family a couple of years ago.

He had taken over his dad's taxi firm, was almost bald and his beer belly was propping up the bar in the local pub. I think I had a lucky escape.