Suzanne Harrington: How did we raise such sensible, sophisticated kids?

The 21-year-old has invited 20 friends over to sip fizz while making some impromptu art around the table — she’s organised the art supplies.

There’ll be canapes — she’s going to Marks & Spencer — and 0.0% fizz for those not drinking. Quite a lot of them don’t drink.

Another mum and dad have to get out of their place for the night so that their 24-year-old and his girlfriend can host a dinner party for a dozen of their pals.

They’ve been menu planning for weeks. They’ll go food shopping the day before.

He’s doing the starters and desserts, and is worried about non-dairy whipped cream collapsing. My own 20-something is not going out — his body is a temple to Muay Thai, built on lean protein and early nights.

His idea of hell is a night on the town, unless it’s dinner at a restaurant serving lean protein.

As each of us outlines what our Gen Z kids have planned over the holidays, it strikes us that while our own parents may have worried about what we were getting up to, we are now worried about what our kids are not getting up to.

Dinner parties? Canapes and painting? The gym? Dear God, where did we go wrong?

The truth is, we were feral in our 20. 

The 90s were our 60s — it was peak free rave era. Squatted warehouses and sound systems in fields. Living for the weekend, which started early and lasted forever.

Rent was cheap, squatting was an option, you could be on the dole and top it up with a series of unserious jobs. Hedonism was our job.

Dancing, festivals, massive free parties, camping, travelling around in reconditioned ambulances, always with a fiver in your pocket – just about.

A period of intense irresponsibility punctuated by winters in India where you could make a tenner last a week, and like the Owl and the Pussycat, dance by the light of the moon until the sun came up and blinded you.

No phones. No social media.

While obviously relieved that our Gen Z children are sane, sensible and well-adjusted — they don’t even smoke weed — there’s a little part of us that longs for them to go a bit mad, to kick up their heels.

I mean, dinner parties? Sip and paint evenings? In your TWENTIES?

As the younger generation — who can’t afford to move out because of the broken housing market — commandeer their respective family homes for their soirées, we oldies will be taking ourselves off to a rave.

Admittedly, one that finishes rather than starts at midnight — but still.

We may have raised sensible, sophisticated kids, but we didn’t do it on purpose. Honestly, we have no idea how it happened.