The difference between going to a party when you're in twenties to now you're in your forties? Obvious. People don't drift away in couples to various nooks and crannies. There's no one sat on the staircase weeping. Nor is anyone seriously, incontinently drunk; over-indulged and red-faced yes, but not head down, groaning in to a bathroom fair reeking of vomit.

The music's played at tolerable levels, and there's concern for the neighbours as well !...in fact they've been invited. The floorboards are n't bowing under the pressure of dancing, scraping feet.

The good glassware can come out; the ceramic knick-knacks and souvenirs don't need hiding. The talk swirling around the wine bottles is learned, the terroir's discussed, vintages remarked. You'll never ever be gatecrashed (gatecrash a party of forty-somethings, now that'll be a first). There's even likely to be a couple of people washing up already for you. The kettle will be whistling away. Imagine the kettle going at a party when you were in your twenties. Inconceivable.

No one, but no one will smoke. On this point, there's this, the universal, unspoken injunction: hold your breath, keep your temper, and wait till you get home.

And there'll be no dancing till sun-rise or the first cock crow. Why dance anyway, sitting down is what it's all about now. Around 10 pm, there'll be the first "it's been great, really enjoyed it, but have to go now, child-minder is leaving soon..." conversations. By 11, you're left with 15% of the guests from an hour ago and they'll be gone in half an hour or so.

Parties when you get into your forties...well...they're just so...civilised.