My friend stood on the balcony of his toney London house and looked down on the scrum of teenagers in his garden. The shouting horde smiled with red faces lost to the future in the haze of now. KS’s wife sat in the kitchen with the other moms.

Her eyes said to KS, “Your problem.”

KS knew the art world like he knew the touch of his palm, but pubescent barbarians were not his forte and he emailed a trans-Atlantic SOS.

“I’m in garage in my house and there are 30 drunk 15-17 year olds! help!”

Last year I had been in London. My nephew Fast Eddie introduced me to his very young friends. They had a party. None of them were over 20. I was the life of the party until midnight.

Too much bong.

The next evening I attended a 16ish Posh Mosh Pit in Nottinghill Gate.

Errol’s young princess glow with a beatified smile.

Virgee was E’ed into eternity.

Around 1 his daughter was overcome by happiness.

Errol and his wife ambulanced her to the hospital.

I thought she was okay, but Virgee wasn’t my kid.

Tonight I sent the following advice to KS;

don’t turn off the toilet.

or the beer

two years ago my friend held a nottinghill gate sweet 16 party for his daughter.

disco in the basement. beer kegs in the back garden. Rihanna on the stereo.

Everything worked out in the end, because my friend looked out for his daughter # 1 and the girls # 2.

“Fuck the blokes.” He knew because he was one.

Mind your own.

And don’t match them drink for drink.

When you want them to leave go up to the DJ booth and put on your Lionel Ritchie CD

I know you have one.

That will get them to leave

next time fly me over

I can trash anyone’s swag with a quip.

“Nice shoes.”

Funny, back when I worked at the door, guys would freak about my insulting their feetware

Otherwise stick wax in your ears and drop an E

Nothing will get teens moving fast like a bad Charlie Sheen clone.

ps teens, notice I mentioned nothing to KS about the other kid’s overwhelming by E.

I ain’t no snitch.