Happy birthday Sweet Sixteen

Today the teen is sixteen years old. For once I do my übermummy bit and make her breakfast before school.

Standing in the kitchen, munching on some sourdough toast spread with Brittany salted butter and Marmite XO, she looks at her mobile phone and says

"Only one happy birthday text."

"Shall I send you one then?" I reply wryly.

She rolls her eyes "Popularity is measured by how many happy birthday texts you get, how many pages of happy birthdays on Facebook. None of my friends have texted."

"Maybe because you will be seeing them face to face in an hour and they can say it verbally?" I suggest.

"You need happy birthdays in at least two ways...." she explains.

" Two platforms?" I venture.

"Yeah." Her phone beeps "Oh, got another one. Clearly this person doesn't know me very well, they can't even spell my name right." She ponders "It must be this boy I know that's dyslexic" She replies to his text...." Ah no, it's his friend " She laughs slightly "I'll tell him to stop stalking me"

She looks down at her phone "Another one. From Grandma. I'm going to look such a loser"

She's wearing incredibly high heels. I've been worrying about how she dresses recently. Men have been following her home. My teen says that happens to all her friends, not just her and it doesn't make any difference what she wears, men still harrass her in the street. But what can you do? You can't lock up your daughter.

"Are you taking flats?" I ask

"God you sound like a granny" she retorts "no offence. Anyway, stop worrying mum, look at me! High necked top, long trousers, every inch covered"

She caught me googling 'serial killers' and 'paedophiles' the other night.

"So what are you going to do today?" I ask "now you are 16"

"Fuck loads of guys, leave home" she whips back. "No, actually 16 is rubbish. You can't do anything. I can't even vote. I think the voting age should be brought down and they should do more politics in school. "

An election is coming up and she can't participate.

The teen "You adults can't imagine how frustrating it is not to be able to buy anything you like, go anywhere you like, clubs, pubs..."

She stops and nods, eyes shining "18 is the big one. That's when everything will change. I'm going to go crazy then"

Posh lunch club

Teen gets home.

"I've got some dinner ready" I say. For once I've been a good mummy.

"S'ok. I'm not hungry. I had a posh lunch, in a restaurant. It was someone's birthday."

"Where did you go?"

"Rocca. It was yummy. And the waiters are buff." She stops, looks dreamy and sighs "Some people are so lucky. The rich kids go out to restaurants for lunch."

"To proper restaurants?"

"Yeah. One kid goes to Carluccio's every day."

The mind boggles. I start to imagine little gentlemen from the Lycée, white linen serviettes tucked into their necks, legs dangling above the floor, having set lunches at various Michelin star establishments near the school.

Her school is in South Kensington.

The teen expands "Some kids get pizza for a pound, some go to 'Raisin d'etre', a posh sandwich place. The poor kids go to Tescos. The really poor kids take packed lunches."

She's doing her GCSE's at the moment.She's just done her mocks. It's going ok, apart from Biology. We have to find a tutor, but to find the money for that on top of school fees, it's not easy.

"A. spends £900 a month on tutors. He gets three hours a week"

The class system is alive and well in England. We tried to get her into a good local girl's school, Camden, which is free but, despite being on the waiting list for six years, she didn't get into the sixth form. You have to be really poor or really rich to get into Camden. Really poor because you live in a council or housing association flat in the local area or really rich because you can afford a private property nearby. So I guess I'm going to have to try and find the money for the Lycée for A levels.

There is a local comprehensive but the teen worries about bullying. There's police there, not just outside the school but inside, patrolling, practically attending lessons. But if she went there, she could come home for lunch, just as French children do.