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Is it the first time you buy a sensible waterproof coat of your own volition? Or when you discuss mortgage options over dinner? Or perhaps when you fling open your bedroom window at 1am on a Friday to inform the rowdy teenagers below that you really need to get some sleep? For me, it was when I uttered the phrase 鈥淚鈥檒l have a glass of wine, please鈥� at 6.30pm on a balmy evening in Camden.

Wandering up to the Edinboro Castle to meet Mace鈥檚 grads, I was hopeful of a good evening. It鈥檚 only been five years since I left university, and the prospect of a night out with construction types under the age of 50 is welcome. We could bond over our struggles to change the system from within, our love of indie music and stripey jumpers 鈥�

鈥淲ine?鈥� asks Phoebe, who looks as though I鈥檇 requested a flagon of cat saliva. Hastily, I promise my next drink will be a pint of cider, just like hers. But which one? 鈥淎 Magners?鈥� offers Josh helpfully. I disagree, shuddering at the thought of the neon orange liquid. 鈥淗ow about a trendy Bulmers?鈥� suggests Cath, trying to make cider acceptable to the over-25s. Then Phoebe comes to my rescue: 鈥淚 do like a pear cider,鈥� she muses. 鈥淚t鈥檚 to do with going to uni in the West Country.鈥� Aha 鈥� so maybe she鈥檚 not so undiscerning after all. But just as I think I鈥檓 making some progress, Adam strikes the hammer blow.

He and Phoebe have been to the Camden Crawl, a two-night banquet of new bands and cheap booze. On safer ground here, I ask which the best band was. 鈥淭he Whip,鈥� he replies. Who?! They鈥檙e a Manchester band, and Mancunian Adam knows the singer. Because, of course, that鈥檚 what you do when you鈥檙e young.

As I move on to the cider, however, it seems that there may not be such a gulf between us after all. Phoebe, for example, has shopped in Waitrose ever since university. 鈥淚t was in Bath!鈥� is her dubious defence. They also have quickly escaped that reliable London nighmare 鈥� the awful first flat. 鈥淢ine had mould up the walls, and there was no space,鈥� is Phoebe鈥檚 fond recollection of digs in Wood Green.

鈥榃ine?鈥� asks Phoebe, who looks as though I鈥檇 just requested a flagon of cat saliva. Hastily, I promise my next will be a pint of cider, just like hers

Actually, none of the grads can touch Cath鈥檚 horror story. She points out the flat she used to rent, opposite this very pub. 鈥淚t was awful. The bathroom was outside. I had to walk past the neighbours in my towel 鈥� and I could see the office.鈥� It鈥檚 not clear which was the principal trauma, but it鈥檚 clear she鈥檚 suffering. To ease the pain, we order another round of cider.

Josh, perhaps fearful of imbibing too many orange e-numbers, has by now realised he might have something to learn from his elders and betters. 鈥淲hen they have construction events I鈥檒l drink wine,鈥� he says. 鈥淚鈥檒l just have to hope someone else chooses which.鈥�

It鈥檚 crass red or sulphuric white, Josh. Complete with mark up.

You鈥檒l learn 鈥�