NUMBER four son turned seven years old the other week. Since, as he constantly reminds us, we didn't get round to having a sixth birthday party for him until six months after the big day (we were busy, there was a lot going on), we thought we'd better organise this one in good time.

To make it extra special, and in an attempt to assuage my guilt, I booked Burko the Clown to entertain everyone. And Burko didn't let us down. Burko was brilliant.

It wasn't just that, from the moment he emerged out of his little white Peugeot car, dressed in full costume from his huge, brightly coloured size 16 shoes to the mass of green, curly hair on top of his head, he looked the part.

Nor was it that he told the sort of jokes seven-year-olds love. "Happy bathday," he announced to the seven-year-old. "I have to say bathday, because I can't say birthday," he added, followed by a chorus of excitable children pointing and squealing: "You just said it, you just said it."

His magic was pretty good too. Burko made things disappear and reappear. He even made things change colour in front of our eyes. And he created wonderful animals, swords and flowers out of balloons.

But no, it wasn't any of this that made Burko, who is descended from a long line of professional magicians, including his great-grandfather Professor Burko and great-great-uncle Professor Christo, so very special.

Burko's biggest moment came when he set off for home. As the children gathered in the garden to wave goodbye to their new comic hero, there was a resounding smash and crunch of metal. Burko, in full view of his adoring fans, had reversed his Peugeot into a low stone wall.

But, ever the professional clown, he kept on smiling through his brightly painted make-up. Still in character, Burko discreetly put his size 16 red, yellow and green shoes back on before emerging from his car to survey the damage, waving and smiling at the children, who clearly thought this was all part of the show, as he went.

My husband and I froze, lost for words, as Burko patted the twisted metal and gave us a cheery smile. There wasn't even a hint of muttering under his breath. He simply bent down, scratched his green, curly head and made a sort of Stan Laurel face

As he parp-parped his horn and set off, waving down the drive, we stood incredulous. "That damage is going to cost him about four times as much as his fee for the party," said my husband as we smiled weakly and waved back.

I spoke to Burko afterwards. "I was absolutely fuming," he confessed. "But I couldn't even take my wig off because all the children were there. I had to wait until I got out of your drive and down the road."

Burko, a former fireman also known as Keith Meddings, wasn't about to shatter anyone's illusions.

I overheard the seven-year-old on the phone to his granny later that night, telling her all about his party: "I had a clown, a real clown," he told her. That's what I call magic.

IN the same week the seven-year-old had his party, his 14-year-old brother went to a birthday party at a classmate's home. What a difference seven years makes. Several youngsters got drunk, one girl had to be taken to hospital after she fell through a plate glass window and the police were called to the house because of the noise.

One friend who found out what was happening rang us at 11pm and asked if we wanted her to bring our son home early, along with hers, even though they had all brought their sleeping bags to stay overnight. Both boys seemed relieved to be dragged home early.

I spoke to another friend, who has a 16-year-old son, about it afterwards. "You'd better get used to it, because this is what all the parties will be like from now on," she told me rather depressingly. Her son had just been to a wild party in one of our local village halls, which has since banned all teen parties after a few boys caused £3,500 of damage. "But just a few years ago he was playing pass the parcel and musical chairs," I protested. Is it possible to have a teen party that's fun and cool without getting out of hand?

OVERHEARD at a children's birthday party recently: High-flying legal career woman to her seven-year-old daughter: "I will not accept this sort of behaviour in the workplace and I will not accept it from you." Mother or daughter, it's hard to know who to feel most sorry for...

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