When its time to party we always party hard

I have rather fond memories of my 21st - definitely a highlight of 2007.

I will admit that I did my fair share of complaining in the time leading up to the party. I consented to a party, yes. But my idea of a party was vastly different from my parents. I envisaged a barbeque in the park with my closest friends and family, a football, an old portable stereo, and maybe a balloon or two and some children's party games.

What eventuated was (what most thought to be) a rather grandscale event. Set in a beautiful (permanent) marquee in a park, complete with crisp white table clothes and shining silver cutlery, my birthday turned into a wedding without a bride. Despite my protests, I was the fortunate recipient of (what I thought to be) a lavish celebration of my 21 years. In fact, it was so brilliant that I happily conceded to being spoiled, and revelled in all the attention.

This weekend past I learned the true meaning of extravagance.

Over 340 guests were ushered into a reception marquee to begin the evening. Served champagne and canapes, they were gently serenaded by a crooner's drifting voice set to a baby grand piano, a double bass, and the trickling of a multi-leveled fountain which had been constructed on the tent's carpeted floors. Everyone was dressed magnificently, conversing vibrantly and preparing for what was to be a spectacular evening.

Urged into the adjoining dining hall marquee, guests were seated at tables featuring elegant centrepieces of flowers and candles, table cloths to the floor and cutlery arranged perfectly. We served their three courses promptly from the temporary kitchen assembled in yet another marquee next door, and kept their wine glasses brimming with wonderful whites and rather rich reds.

Dessert was followed by a choreographed display of fireworks, set to a 16 minute soundtrack, all set up within the grounds of the estate which was playing host to this splendid soiree. Whilst guests enjoyed the show outside, preparations were underway inside - tea and coffee was served in the dining area, whilst the partitions between the dining and reception area were removed to reveal an amazing transformation. The reception tent was now a cocktail lounge.

An additional area was opened up with a tiled dancefloor, complete with LED fairy lights embedded in the floor, and a stage at the rear hosting a 15 piece big band. This nightclub-like scene extended into a more relaxed space with lounges, bar tables and stools, colourful lighting and mysterious dark corners. Set right at the rear of the room was a bar offering a menu of beer, wine, cocktails and spirits, where we were kept busy with guests waiting three people thick to be served drinks and keep the festivities alive.

The big band may have finished belting out their big tunes around midnight, but the DJ was more than adequate at keeping partygoers on the dancefloor or crowding the bar for refreshments.

Bacon rolls were served at 2am, fueling the fun and prompting renewed waves of energy from once-tiring guests. Drinks continued to flow until well after 4am, whilst the dining hall was quietly packed away unbeknownst to any revellers.

Come 5am our bus arrived to take us home. Weaving our way through a still-jumping nightclub, past weary bodies sprawled over lush white lounges, we made it out into the fresh morning air, away from the thump of the drum 'n' bass that was relentlessly pounding away inside.

All this for a 21st.

Conservative estimates have priced this party somewhere between 200 and 250,000 pounds. Half a million Australian dollars.

For those of you still chuckling at the grandeur of my 21st, may I at least point out that I didn't have a fountain.