Memories of crazy days will have you in creases

I'm thinking my forehead could probably do with a quick press-over, meanwhile wondering whether I should look into cheaper energy providers.

This is what my life has become. But it happens to all of us, right?

As I channel surf looking for something to save me from the tedium of the task in hand I stumble upon a BBC Three show Sun, Sex and Suspicious Parents. You've seen it, haven't you?

Should you not want to admit to this guilty pleasure I'll fill you in.

Excitable teenagers set off for their first parent-free holiday to Mediterranean party-town (think Magaluf, Malia, Ibiza town) with high hopes for plenty of booze and flirtations with the opposite sex.

But what they don't know is that they haven't quite been let off the leash as their parents are following them out there to watch their every move from secret viewing points. Cringe.

Cue lots embarrassing behaviour, fishbowls of cocktails, secret snogs and messy mornings spent hugging the toilet bowl.

Kids today, hey? What's with them?

Thing is, their behaviour is, well, exactly the same as it was in 'my day', 'your day' and days long before that.

Ever since Thomas Cook launched the 18-30s holiday young people have been jetting off for cheap and cheerful fun in the sun.

This summer will be no exception; there will be hundreds of thousands of teens heading off for their first taste of freedom.

And while most parents will wish they could see exactly what their little darlings are getting up to rest assured, it'll probably be a lot less than you think.

Yes, there are always holiday horror stories but these are few and far between; these holiday resorts, in my experience, are generally safe environments where youngsters are out for fun, not trouble.

Holidays like this are a rite of passage and so much more than all-you-can-drink booze cruises, foam parties and endless chants of 'oggy, oggy, oggy'.

Like most teens, my fun in the sun heydays were a blur of neon cocktails, neon nightclub dresses and chasing boys reeking of Lynx Africa.

But my friends and I also spent a lot of time laughing while getting dolled up at night (pass the roll-on shimmer glitter, will you?), or traipsing the streets for a restaurant we could all agree on eating at.

One girl would only settle for places selling Heinz baked beans, while another claimed lasagne was 'too foreign'. I kid you not.

Such frustrations resulted in arguments and lots of them. Two weeks, six hormonal girls, equals a lot of fights, particularly when paired with hangovers from hell and a lack of Pringles.

First holidays are nothing but a steep learning curve, because in the absence of parents you're suddenly tasked with making your own 'rules'. One day with a lobster-red conk and you're soon reminding one another about the importance of sun tan lotion and drinking enough water. You positively turn into your mum.

But once you've survived the sunstroke, the hangovers, the rows and the aching sides from too much laughter what you're left with is the happiest memories.

Memories which will see you through those dark days of ironing duvet covers on a Friday night 'cos I don't qualify for the 18-30s anymore. Not unless I'm going to start getting my passport from the same place as Geri Haliwell.