Continued from here:
My parents trusted me at far too early an age. They’d go off for weekends, and leave me alone and ‘in charge’. I took this responsibility seriously enough… Enough, that is, to conscientiously remove all evidence of debauchery1 before they returned a day or two later. Enough even to look up the Golden Pages and call the french polisher..!
Then again, at that age, debauchery mostly consisted of staying up v late, drinking absolutely anything we could get our hands on (cooking sherry, anyone..?!), seeing if stereo speakers can actually blow, and being (almost totally) unsuccessful in getting girls to ‘just drop by’. In the usual absence of girls, our mission was to persuade older friends/cousins to bring us to the disco on Saturday night. Saturday Night Fever this was not…