Heather in my hair, and other NYE stories

"Mum, why are you buying two bottles of brandy at the same time? There's only you drinking it!"

If babygirl had used a loudhailer she couldn't have gained the attention of more shoppers than she did with that question. Luckily, my cheeks went the same shade of red that my eyes already were so people soon looked away in abject fear and the moment passed. I gently explained that the good brandy was for indoors and the cheap stuff for the party cos I didn't really know anyone so didn't want to get steaming drunk, nor did I have the inclination to supply relative strangers with good hooch. "Ah, so that's why you're not wearing your corset then?!" She knows me so well...

The party was at babyboys' mates parents. They'd taken him on holiday this summer so I knew them a bit, but not socially and nowhere near enough to let my hair down properly (can't take the chance that any of their other guests are social workers!), so I planned to be on my best behaviour and wearing something that didn't look like it came from the i-love-my-boobs shop.

You know what they say about plans...

Upon arrival I was very politely relieved of my jacket and bag of booze then a famous persons name was sellotaped to my back where it immediately got stuck in my hair cos I'd left it down. Helen (mates mum) poured me a drink and apologised for it being strong before asking if I danced. I quickly glanced round the room taking in the group of teenagers at one end and a very straitlaced looking huddle of middle-agers at the other as I heard myself saying 'Oh yes! I love dancing!' then thinking 'Oh shit. I really must do something about my mouth being faster than my eyes'. I necked the drink, fearing I'd just signed up to do either some weird rap style thing with the kids or ballroom with the christmas-sweater wearing contingent. Or worse, both.

Two quick drinks later I'd figured out the woman stuck in my hair was Heather Mills-McCartney. Ok, I cheated slightly. Knowing that babyboy was giving more than the yes or no answers required by the rules I asked him if my person was funny. He replied "she is when she does this..." and aped a flamingo keeling over whilst singing Eleanor Rigby. That's my boy!

With Heather out of my hair I soon noticed that there were people smoking in the garden and rushed out to join them, only to find myself feeling like a very old pariah amongst a crowd of pretty young thing pariahs. Sod it, I might as well make conversation, thinks I as I light up. Ten minutes later we all go back inside to change the music and I find I've gained a posse of fans that can't stop embarrassing No 1 Son by telling him how great/fun/busty his mum is. God help me, I'm a MILF! From then on I'm positively plyed with drinks (note to pedants - I haven't mispelled plied - they really were coming 2 by 4!) and with the music becoming more to my taste I start the singalong dancing and grin like a loon when I see people from both groups joining in.

Details are slightly sketchy from then on but the bits I remember are...

A gorgeous 20 year old lad, warning off his gorgeous 19 year old step-brother who wanted to cut in dancing with me.

A neighbour in full African regalia, telling me as we danced that I had much to thank God for. Me trying my hardest to be polite toward his personal views for a full thirty seconds before losing it and spraying my drink everywhere giggling at him. Him saying 'Ok, ok! I get it!' and dirty dancing like a demon. I think he'd have preferred me praising his lord than him saving my soul. He got neither. I'm so going to hell.

Earnestly telling two 16 year olds over a shared ciggie that condoms *plus* the pill are their best friends cos, if the thought of being a single mum isn't enough to scare them, they should consider being a single mum with herpes. (FFS! I've never had a herpes scare in my life, where do I come up with this stuff?!)

Being left in charge of the remote to ring in the new year with Jools and pressing all the buttons to try and turn the volume up for the countdown. I changed channel by mistake and was rescued in the nick of time by aforementioned gorgeous 20 year old lad who demanded my first kiss of the year as payment and cuddled me like he'd never let go. What a sweetie!

Becoming vaguely aware that people had stopped kissing each other and were waiting to kiss me. Then becoming acutely aware that it had been fifteen minutes since my last wrigleys ice and there was simply no way to get to my handbag through the, er, queue. So drunk but so damn British!

Babygirl telling me she'd not only noticed but also politely answered all the HNY texts and calls I'd received on my mobile while I was, in her words, 'busy making people happy'

Being one of the last 'oldies' present other than those that lived in the house and suddenly querying how the girls were getting home safely.

Leaving my car where it was to totter home on aching high heels with a posse of teens and the gorgeous 20 year old shooting me love loaded looks out of No 1 Son's sightline.

Having an idea for a new tv show. I'm old enough to be your mother... get me out of here!

Getting to the end of my road and receiving utterly countless hugs, kisses and 'please come round soon!' implorations as well as having my arse squeezed by gorgeous 20 year old lad. That boy has all the makings of a fabulous lover for some lucky (young) girl!

Getting to my door with the key in my hand and babygirl belly-laughing on the way as my rendition of Abba's Happy New Year made lights come on in all the houses we passed.

My saying - oh ok; my loudly declaring - 'Darling, beautiful sprogchildren who are the light of my life... Poke the pig eating neighbours! Happy new year up yer smelly bum, neighbours! Sure, I get loudly drunk on occasion but at least I bag my bollocking refuse properly!'

The next day I slept in.

Helen came and got me to collect my car and I went out with that horrible 'oh god I bet she hates me and has all kinds of helpline numbers ready for me' feeling. Instead she hugged me warmly and said 'The calls I've had this morning! Ange, the consensus of opinion is that you should rent yourself out for parties. I'm only doing it next year if you promise to come!'

Yay me, a party animal MILF if ever there was one.