Still seething over summer party politics

The youngest had been packed off to the Gaeltacht for three weeks, the middle one was taking part in a residential sports course and the oldest had got himself a job locally. He was going to work all the overtime he could to accumulate money for a holiday at the end of the summer. Now, surely, the time was right for the Da and myself to go off for a week on our own. "Now promise me, no parties," I implored.

"Definitely not. I just want to work every hour God made. I wouldn't dream of having any of the lads down when you weren't here. Honestly." And the little git crossed his heart.

We had a grand holiday and arrived home happy and relaxed. Opening the front door the smell of air freshener was overpowering. The house gleamed like it had never done before. There were even flowers on the mantlepiece.

"Did you have people staying here?" I thundered.

"Not exactly, I had a few in for a night - a kind of party." As the interrogation continued the information trickled out slowly. His version was that he had invited "some of the lads" to watch a video. Word then got around that there was a free house and every teenager in our town must have turned up. And then gardai "just happened" to arrive.

I was aghast. I decided to contact the gardai myself. They had been phoned by a neighbour who was worried when she saw countless people going in and out all night. "I hated being a spoilsport," she told me, "but four of them were fighting on the lawn."

My first impression of a gleaming house was shortlived. People had been in my bedroom, my drawers had been rifled - nothing was taken, but I was furious. As days went on, I found empty beer cans and ashtrays deep with cigarette butts shoved under beds.

The gardai told me that when they asked for the owner/occupant, Darragh presented himself, looking a bit dazed. He seemed oblivious to what was going on around him, but agreed to lower the volume of the music. They drove by the house a couple of times during the night and obviously their presence must have put a bit of a dampener on the proceedings.

I was upset about the incident and felt it was a betrayal of trust. His Dad was more pragmatic, putting it down to growing up. One positive thing came out of it - our neighbours are now much more friendly. "Ah, sure, didn't we do it ourselves," they laughed, as I went around them all to apologise.

Now that we have calmed down about it, Darragh has taken to regaling us with stories of parties he has gone to. "A fellow was stabbed the other night and rushed to hospital" or "the house was raided by the drug squad" or "a television was taken". Wasn't I lucky that I only had to fumigate the house?