THE pictures of prom kings and queens making their way to school send-offs caused a twinge of nostalgia in the newsroom.

Not everyone could remember their last few days of school, but the end-of-term party stuck in the memory.

Trying to sneak in a tot of alcohol, plucking up the courage to ask the youngest teacher for a dance, seeing how far you could push the boundaries of banter with the not-so-popular members of staff. (The ones doing their best to look natural in jeans.) It was not even called a prom in 1998.

But then again, the modest garb that party-goers were kitted out in a decade ago was a far cry from the lavish ballgowns and James Bond-esque outfits on show today.

And the weird and wonderful means of transport in 2008 – horses and carts, open-top buses, a seafront tourist train – are frankly jaw-dropping.

As you can tell, the reminiscing soon turned into a conversation that echoed the Four Yorkshiremen sketch, famously performed by Monty Python.

(To remind anyone who has forgotten or never seen the routine: the characters talk about their humble beginnings, which get increasingly absurd when they try to outdo each other.) Back in our day, girls in budget dresses and boys in ill-fitting suits borrowed from dads and older brothers filled the dance floor.

Even the mention of a dance floor prompted surprise for another wag.

Back then, the end-of-year prom was a humble garden barbecue.

As for limousines and vintage cars. We were lucky if we didn’t have to walk.

In all seriousness, it is seemingly a reflection on our society.

Even Year 9 leavers are having lavish parties.

In the same way as many youngsters’ recreational tastes are now too sophisticated to have a jumper-for-goalposts kick-about on a playing field, the end-of-year party is no longer simply a farewell celebration.

Admittedly, the youngsters of today look ten times more dashing and beautiful than we ever did, but do they enjoy themselves any more?