Just returned from some Polo Party in Central London.

My friend was accompanied by a balding giant who was sponsoring our wine supply, plus he was also very nice so I couldn't complain.
Everyone else in the club was under 25.
Apart from 3 desperate-looking guys with two wedding rings between them. My "suitor" looked exactly like Mr Bean and talked far too much for my liking.

My friend and I danced for a while for the bald wine sponsor's pleasure, then she challenged me:
"OK, your mission for tonight is to snog one of the ten-year-olds", pointing at the gaggle of underage-looking polo boys on the next table.

I grabbed my glass and an ice cube, and dropped the cube down the nearest boy's top.
"Oh, hi, nice to meet you", he gushed, fishing the ice out from inside his clothing, "I'm Peter".
"Hi", I smiled, "nice to meet you: Sienna!", I told him, bobbing to the music.

Before long, we were dancing.
My friend tried to take candid shots of us chatting, and Polo Boy's hands became more and more friendly.
Finally, we sat down together and he cuddled me close. "It's so nice to meet you", he gushed, "you are such a nice person!"
I agreed and gave him deep and meaningful looks, willing him to snog me.
"Where is my friend!?", he fretted after a while, "I have to find him!". This friend looked a genuine 13.

God knows how they got into the club. "I paid 20 quid although I was on a guest list", Polo Boy confessed. "Really!?"- I was amazed. "I never pay to get in anywhere", I bragged (or admitted.- after all, I don't have that kind of cash and am far too clever to pay). "You should come out with us more", I encouraged him.
"Do you play Polo at all?", he asked me for the third time. "No", I confessed, "but I like horse riding. Do you have your own pony?". "Yes", he replied, "they are all fat and fluffy at the moment".

"I live in halls", he told me, "totally supported by my parents". "That's ok", I reassured him: "after all, you'll make lots of money as a vet!"

He held me close and stroked my cheek: "I am so glad I met you".

I looked at my friend over his shoulder who gave me the thumbs up, her wine sponsor raising his forty-something eyebrows in an approving way.
I felt mean.

Stroking his back, I asked him: "so, how old are you?" "Eighteen", he replied.
"Really!?" I nearly choked. "I thought about 22!?" "Yes, twenty-two", he answered. "Oh dear", I lied, "I am 25!"
"Never mind", he reassured me, "age is just a number"- and kissed me.

His friend walked past and tapped him on the shoulder. "I didn't know your mum was here!" he shouted over the music loud enough for me to hear. Great.

"They were sixteen!", my friend laughed as we got our coats.

Not bad, that broke my previous record I suppose...:-/