Between the cheap drink, cheap drama and reliable music set, most would agree that house parties are the superior social event of our youth. But as we edge ever nearer to the soul-sucking abyss of ‘adulthood’, it’s important to reflect on our roots.
Many years ago, following a vicious yet undoubtedly petty argument with my brother, our poor mum (by this point at her wit’s end) threatened to cancel our Friday night plans. Horrified, our heads snapped in her direction: Friday was the school Halloween disco. Everyone was going, we’d already paid a quid for the ticket, my Sainsbury’s-bought pirate costume was hanging in the wardrobe; she wouldn’t dare.
This was my peak stress at eight years old. As the social event of the season, my frail reputation hung on appearing in that assembly-hall-cum-cafeteria. It was our one chance as children to touch on independence: there were too many adults at birthday parties to really let loose, too many eyes watching to make sure you weren’t about to steal a second piece of cake and ruin Lisa’s ‘special day’.
School discos were our time: a time for 5p Freddos, pickled onion Space Raiders, sequined ballet pumps and discovering hair wax. It was the night that would make or break your dancing career; kids took the dance competition as seriously as they were meant to take school itself. Some stopped smiling altogether, opting instead to just stare at the floor where their feet were doing some strange epileptic quickstep – it looked like what would happen if the rhythm eventually did ‘get you’, yet somehow it merited a Cadbury’s selection box.
As for the music, it was like entering a club that only ever played your favourite songs – something for a future Black Mirror episode I’m sure. This was more to do with the fact none of us had developed an actual taste yet. Boy bands still ruled the earth, causing many a tween heartache, one-hit-wonders found their unsuspecting victims, and weird Spanglish numbers somehow made their way into the set (turns out I didn’t know the words to ‘The Ketchup Song’).
Between the coatroom talk, cha-cha slides and unsupervised tuck shop runs, school discos were the times of our young lives. They geared us up for clubbing etiquette before we knew the horrors of sticky floors and wandering hands, before entry cost more than the drinks and we realised that it’s probably better to just stay at home.
So, thank you: to the parents and guardians who drove us, the teachers who put up with us, the janitors who cleaned after us. To JLS, MC Hammer and The Cheeky Girls, to S Club 7, Sean Kingston and Cascada. It’s not the same without you.
