Pocket Money: How I learned to cope with the scourge of parent-envy syndrome

Ican cope with not being invited to parties. In fact, I embrace "Not Invited" status because it means I can stay home with my busy schedule of University Challenge, Shameless, ER and Six Feet Under. And without watching them, I wouldn't have anything to talk to fellow party-goers about. Well, apart from my children, who are an endless source of fascination for me, and the reason my colleagues' eyes suddenly glaze and they offer to do a tea run.

But the two worlds have collided spectacularly with the arrival of my daughter's fifth birthday. I'm a novice at the parenting thing, because mine are recently adopted. Holy cow, doesn't it cost? And isn't it time-consuming?

Anyway, the party; my chance to win friends and influence people (well, other parents mostly). Oh, the thrill of choosing dinky invitations and deciding what the theme would be, the venue, the hours. By the time I took the invitations to school, a rival has scheduled her party for the same date, at the same time.

Uh-oh. And I didn't know in advance because my nipper wasn't on the guest list. I swiftly changed the date, and wept on her behalf all the way to work.

Marshalling my troops (my credit card) I set out to plan the world's greatest social event. In the course of my research, I heard about larger-than-life Postman Pats that traumatised the toddlers so much the party was cancelled. Organic high tea left untouched. Fleets of coaches to take entire classes to theme parks. What hope did I have of making an impact? Short of getting the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang car round to fly everyone to Disneyland for Gordon Ramsay burgers, none.

And that's without the most competitive element of a children's party: goody bags. When I was young, we were lucky to leave a birthday do with a slice of cake in a napkin. Now the guests walk in, cast the hastily purchased gift to one side and demand their going-home present. Rivalry between parents is rife; stories of personalised t-shirts and DVDs abound. One mother, when her son came home with a personal CD player, phoned the parents to apologise. Her son must have nicked it from them, she thought, only to be told all of the pre-teen guests had been given one to say thanks for coming. Quite, quite bonkers, and embarrassing for parents who have no hope of reciprocating. (The children want only sweets anyway.)

So, wised-up, and not a little jaded, I and my very excited nearly-five-year-old held a dressing-up disco at our house, for 12. Dad put up a rotating glitter ball, big brother inflated thousands of balloons and I made individual picnic boxes stuffed with mini-chocolate rolls and salt 'n' vinegar chipsticks (this is no time for healthy eating, we've got children to win over.

And we made party bags full of cheap and cheerful stuff, a bulk buy of Haribo Tangfastics (a personal favourite) and what Woolworths rather prissily call "party favours" which are actually bubble-blowers, water-squirters, Barbie stickers, and other assorted plastic stuff.

Each going-home present had a Polaroid of the guest in their dressing-up outfit. What a child-friendly, fun get-together. I congratulated myself. How chic, how witty.

But how expensive. Whichever way you plan it, having a party is prohibitive. I spent £78.10 in Sainsbury on brightly coloured nibbles, and more than £50 on those favours. In fact, it was nearly £200 by the time I'd factored in the new costumes, fireworks, birthday cake and a disco compilation CD.

Next year I'm taking my daughter to Ibiza for the weekend and she can party there. It'll be cheaper.