The Proms and the Class of 1980

We learn today that our 16 year olds - boys as well as girls - are spending thousands of pounds of their parents' hard earned cash on the recent import called the proms. It's like a school party only bigger, glitzier and on par with weddings in terms of glamour and costs.

Apparently today's school leavers are forking out for stretch limousines, glamorous dresses, designer wear suits, photographers, personal video film makers, expensive makeovers, comprehensive grooming, hairstyling - in fact, everything remnant of past and current Hollywood stars.

It's the world of materialism, overt luxury and obscene vanity - a far cry from my own experience.

I don't know about you but when I 'graduated' from school, my 'proms' was not much more than a clean white shirt, a fresh shoe-shine and a liberal splashing of Denim - which I had borrowed from a friend. As for spending money, all I got from my parents was a couple of quid (or was it a fiver?) to buy a can of Vimto and a bag chips on the way back.

The gig - the disco - was held in the school hall that was lit with multicoloured flashing lights. I spent the entire evening standing around in my flares and platform shoes thinking of how to ask Dawn Scott for a dance (I didn't - because in the end Mark Joinson beat me to it whilst I was left clutching a packet of Walkers' ready salted).

Sadly I can still remember that evening. The boys danced to Jam, Racey, The Police and Bee Gees' tracks from Saturday Night Fever. And I know that one or two guys with their 'birds' got a slow dance to Roxy Music and 10CC. For a drink I think I had a pathetic can of Shandy - in the vain hope that it'll make me look cool.

And that was the 'proms', the meagre, innocent party for my class of 1980.

This afternoon as I watched the teenagers enjoying themselves all dressed up like supermodels, I couldn't help feeling a pang of sadness, a wave of self reproach and pity. Am I really feeling disgust at seeing youngsters all dolled up? And is it really my hatred of the Americans and what they're doing to our culture that I feel a little crestfallen.

My son challenged me this evening by giving me his interpretation of my state of mind. He said that I was feeling critical of the new generation because I was simply jealous of all the opulence with which today's youngsters are clad. I am, after all, he said, a grumpy old man who, like the sun, has seen his youth not only set, but fade below the horizon and now all he can do is spit out his vile at young people because they've got everything my generation never did.

Perhaps he's right. Perhaps my criticism of our youngsters is really nothing more than envy - a yearning, a wish that I could have had and enjoyed the confidence that shines from their faces.

I looked at him and gave him a wise old smile but, to be honest, could think of nothing as an argument. All I heard myself crying petulantly as I walked away was, 'Yeah, whatever!'