I could not have planned my ninth birthday party any better. First, bowling at the Box Hill Bowl. Then, after a few games, back to our house for quick snacks. Finally, a horror video. What a party ! But you know what they say about the best laid plans....   

When the day came, my friends and I squeezed into a couple of cars and Mum and Dad drove us up to the Box Hill Bowl. However, when we arrived, there was a notice on the door that said the Bowl was closed for the day. Something about a power strike in the area. No Bowling. Not a good start to the party. Disappointed, but not defeated, we jumped back in the cars and headed back to our house. We looked on the bright side - at least we were able to get stuck straight into the snacks.   

Then it was time to fire up the video. At the time, we did not have a video recorder, so Dad arranged to borrow an old portable Beta video from his work for the weekend. More importantly, I had somehow managed to convince Mum and Dad to let me borrow a video called "Xtro". This was no mean feat, as they had never let me watch such stuff in the past. However, I had pleaded with them that my life wouldn’t be worth living if I invited a group of guys to come and watch a Benji film.   

In anticipation, we settled in for the show. To cut a long story short, the video lasted for about five minutes. The first scene involved a lady who looked pregnant. All of a sudden she started screaming and writhing on the ground, and her stomach grew and grew. With her legs spread all over the place, an alien exploded out of her stomach amidst a spray of blood and guts, and she died.   

Sounds good ? Well, at least two of my mates went as white as a sheet, and looked like they were about to throw up their Cheezels and Fanta. And so Mum and Dad did the unthinkable, but highly responsible, thing and pulled the pin on the video.   

I was distraught. Not only had the bowling fallen through, but Mum and Dad had condemned me to a life of ridicule by stopping the video. More immediately, however, the party was unsalvageable.   

Or so I thought. Dad came up with the idea that we all go to the oval across the road and have a game of footy. Our lemon jumpers and pink penguin shirts were not exactly made for mucking around with a footy, but this was soon forgotten after a few falls and speccies. And we played and played until it got too hard to see the footy.   

I can’t remember whether I was on the winning team, but I can remember all of us coming home tired and happy. The disappointment of the events earlier in the day had been kicked, tackled and run out of our systems. Even better, Mum had bought us each a Choc- block ice cream to end the day.