Over the Christmas holiday, my son Tom and his partner allowed their youngest son to give a party at their home to celebrate his 21st birthday.

They were not going to be there themselves and trusted the young princeling to maintain reasonable law and order in their absence.

Oh dear, though. They were horrified to find their lovely book-filled house had been turned into a tip.

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There were empty bottles and crushed cans everywhere, fag ends from whatever the kids had been smoking and crumbs from discarded food had been ground into the carpets. Even worse, a toilet had been broken.

About 50 young people had crowded into the house in west London and some, I gather, were gatecrashers who had heard the magic word ‘party’ and invited themselves along, The noise, I’m told, was unbelievable. In fact, the place looked much like the ‘before’ version of the TV series How Clean is Your House, and similar shows.

It was also reminiscent of the famous 1991 TV ad for Yellow Pages, where a young man wakes up to confront the detritus left over from a huge party held while his parents were away. ‘It’s possible you could just save my life,’ he tells the (fictitious) French Polishers.

Similarly, Tom and his partner had to get the deep cleaners in to clear up the carnage. So did I feel in any way sorry for him coming home to a virtually uninhabitable house?

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I did not. By contrast, I felt a distinct whiff of schadenfreude. It was, to me, a dramatic example of the workings of the law of karma or, as you sow, so shall you reap, even if only eventually. No bad deed goes unpunished!

Liz Hodgkinson with her son Tom, far left, and ex-husband Neville. Tom’s party as a teen led to smashed toilets and furniture

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Nearly 40 years ago, Tom and his younger brother Will, then teenagers themselves, aged 18 and 16, asked if they could hold a party in our house.

My then husband and I had recently moved into a beautiful but somewhat tired and fragile Queen Anne house by the river in Richmond, south-west London, and we agreed the boys could have a party before we began refurbishing the place.

We said that we would remove ourselves for the duration and booked into a hotel for the night after making sure there was bread and cheese to eat along with the booze. We felt food was necessary to stop these youngsters, possibly unused to alcohol, from getting too drunk. But next morning, when we returned home, what a sight confronted us.

There was sick all on the carpets. The partygoers had not bothered to use the ashtrays provided. Bits of discarded bread and cheese were also littered everywhere.

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There was nothing for it but to rip up all the carpets and take them to the tip – they were completely beyond repair or cleaning.

When we looked up, we saw there were beer stains on the ceilings. How on earth had they got there? Toilets were broken. Furniture was smashed.

We had told the boys that they could hold the party in the basement, which the previous owners had turned into a self-contained flat, and they could also use the first floor, but nowhere else. This command was completely ignored.

We kept finding couples intertwined round each other as we wandered round the house.

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Any hopes we had about keeping the upper floors free from damage were dashed – along with some broken windows.

It took ten of us all next day to clear up the mess. But the basement flat could not be returned to any sort of order.

Simple redecoration would not work, and we ended up having to install a new kitchen and bathroom as well as new carpets and curtains.

We were not originally planning to refurbish the downstairs flat but as it happened, we had no choice as the place was completely inhabitable.

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The upstairs kitchen was also wrecked, but that would have to wait until we had enough money for another new kitchen.

If this was the only such occasion, Tom could perhaps be forgiven. But it was not.

My husband and I had gone for a holiday in Scotland and for some reason now forgotten we arrived home at dawn a day early. Once again, a frightful sight met our eyes; the sordid remains of an impromptu party.

We went upstairs to wake 19-year-old Tom, who sat up and said, ‘Oh no, my worst nightmare! You said you were coming home tomorrow! You said tomorrow!’ He made out it was our fault for coming back earlier than expected.

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‘We had told the boys that they could hold the party in the basement, but nowhere else. This command was completely ignored,’ Liz writes (picture posed by models)

Things got worse when neighbours complained about the noise – from the other side of the river. What is it about teenage boys and their parties? My next-door neighbour had a similar tale. Her brother had allowed his son to hold his 18th birthday party in the family house and once again, deep cleaners had to be called in to clear up and attempt to remove the red wine stains spilt all over the pale carpets.

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‘These boys just have no respect,’ my neighbour said. ‘My brother couldn’t believe the mess they created and said: “never again”.’

Tom and his younger brother Will are now in their 50s, and these days responsible, sober and upright citizens living in (usually) clean, well-appointed, orderly homes. They may not like to be reminded that when they were teenagers they were just as bad, if not worse.

So was my young grandson repentant at the damage and disorder his party had caused? Not at all.

I sent him an email saying, ‘I heard about your party,’ and he replied, ‘Yeah, it was such fun.’

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He and his older brother, who at 25 is perhaps past the age for a riotous party, were amused to hear that, as a teenager their somewhat disapproving father had similarly laid waste to the parental home.

And although Tom may have long forgotten the ghastly sights that awaited me on two occasions, or at least buried them deep in his subconscious, I certainly haven’t.

Should he complain about the conduct of his younger son, I will be sure to remind him of his own behaviour, years back. Karma again!