opinionNat Locke: As STM celebrates its 21st I thought it would be a good time to reminisce on my own milestoneNat Locke STMSun, 2 November 2025 2:00AMCommentsComments
STM is turning 21, so I figured it was an appropriate time to reminisce about my own 21st.
When I turned 21, I was a student living in a share house in Melbourne. I should point out that back then, 21 was quite old. One of my uni friends got engaged at her 21st, for example, which — and I kid you not — was a bit of a bummer for her single twin sister. At 21, we were all living out of home in weird little share houses next door to a houseful of nuns. Well, that was just me, but you get the gist.
I had a part-time job working as a sports trainer at a local football club, so obviously, my 21st was an extraordinarily classy affair.
And by classy, I mean Macca from the footy club organised a bunch of kegs and we drank them in the backyard.
This was a different era, by the way.
There were no balloon arches. No smoke machines. No extravagant floral displays or dancing flash mobs. The standard decorative feature at a 21st in my generation was a photo wall filled with poorly developed Instamatic photos of the birthday girl with embarrassing childhood haircuts. It was a hit with the footy club boys.
I wore a black dress that I had made myself but not quite finished, so a series of safety pins held it together. I didn’t get my hair and make-up done. I don’t think it was even an option then. Seriously, girls going to a year three school disco go to more effort with their appearance these days. I went all out with some shimmery blue eye shadow and berry flavoured lip gloss.
I went to more effort with the catering, though. I ordered an absolute truckload of chicken from my favourite independent chicken outlet. And that’s all. I moved a table into the backyard and it literally bowed under the obscene amount of fried poultry. There were no vegetarian options and I presume the batter was positively brimming with gluten.
Because it was Melbourne, I had to hire a marquee because you could never predict when it was going to rain. Typically, because I had gone to the considerable cost and effort of hiring a marquee, it didn’t rain at all, so that was money well spent.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “But where’s the cake?” Fret not. There was indeed a cake.
My amazing mother made a cake for me, iced it in fondant, made little icing flowers to decorate it, wrapped all the components in bubble wrap and couriered it all to me in Melbourne. It survived the trip, and I pieced it together on the day and at the appropriate minute a mate carried it down the back stairs, candles blazing. Everyone sang Happy Birthday, I cut the cake, made a wish and then we all promptly forgot about it. The next morning, I found the cake in the kitchen, with the knife still sticking out of it, like it was an Agatha Christie murder victim. I tried to palm little packages of well-travelled fruit cake off to friends for weeks afterwards.
Most of the evening is just a hazy memory now. But a few significant events remain seared in my memory. Like towards the end of the evening when a couple of guys from across the road were sprung trying to roll a keg out through the side gate. Several of the footy players strongly suggested that it was not an appropriate course of action. I rued the missed opportunity to offer them some birthday cake.
Another memorable event actually came to light the next day when I noticed that my bike was missing from the front porch. It turned out that one of my guests had brought along a mate who realised he needed to call it a night, and because Ubers hadn’t been invented yet and taxis took forever, he decided to “borrow” my bike for the journey home. The gears jammed somewhere, and he dumped it. I never saw the bike again. The guy went on to play a LOT of AFL football, which makes the story way more interesting.
I had no idea at the time, because I was very busy pashing my crush, which just goes to show that the wish I made when I stabbed the cake actually came true. And my berry flavoured lip gloss really got a workout.
If you’re turning 21, I hope your wish comes true too. Failing that, lock up your bike.
You could win a 21st birthday gift like no other. To enter, find the weekly codeword inside your birthday edition of STM, only in The Sunday Times between 2 – 23 November.
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