AMONG the more dubious ideas we've imported from America - Sunny Delight, trick or treat, bright pink cowboy boots - let us spare a small cheer for the School Prom.

In our day when we left school, we did nothing more glamorous than make a bonfire of our uniforms and go off down the pub and celebrate to oblivion. Today's sixth formers are more sophisticated and opt instead for a formal dance.

It's all part of the American - and now increasingly British - way of marking rites of passage. In the US they even have graduation from pre-school. We haven't gone that far, yet, but we have the Prom, which seems to require a lot of forward planning.

The main problem, every year, is where to hold it. The clothes might have improved but the road to oblivion hasn't necessarily changed much and with a couple of hundred sixth formers intent on celebrating, they're rapidly running out of hotels that will have them.

Actually, all that's formal about it really is that they dress up. A few weeks ago Smaller Son and his friends went out and hired dinner jackets (Only they, so American, insist on calling it a "tux") and the girls have been spending small fortunes on dresses and tanning sessions.

And mothers get roped in to advise on the intricacies of double cuffs and father's cuff links and the exact placing of a wing collar or a cummerbund.

"It's a fine line," said Smaller Son, "between looking smart and looking like a second rate magician." Quite.

With his brother, three years ago, it was more a case of looking like a second rate club bouncer. But even he looked gorgeous and, to prove it, I have a photo of him resplendent. Tricky sometimes to see the connection with the great long scruff stretched out on the sofa, but proof that he can scrub up quite well when needs be.

Anyway Smaller Son and his friends looked gorgeous. Really dishy, the lot of them and not a bit as though they were going to produce rabbits from hats.

The girls looked absolutely stunning and oh so sophisticated. I dropped them off at the pub where they were all meeting up. Seeing all these attractive, beautifully dressed youngsters gathering together was a bit like looking at a 1950s film. I half expected David Niven to saunter over any moment. Or Kenneth More and Kay Kendall to come hurtling round the corner in Genevieve.

It wasn't just that they all looked so good in their finery, but that they all looked so at ease in it. These were youngsters who spend most of their time in jeans and trainers, scruffing along life's path, yet here they were looking as though they wore djs or slinky dresses every day of their lives. Whatever happened to adolescent angst?

Even in their strange clothes, they had an easy air of assurance and self-confidence.

Even the road to oblivion - on that night at least - seemed pretty much abandoned. They all behaved so well that the hotel is apparently quite happy to put on next year's Prom as well. Which must be a first.

Now that's it. They must really be grown up.

Published: 16/05/2002