EXPOSED: Cotswolds elite who snort cocaine with their teens. They chop lines in their manor houses and think no one can touch them. I've had enough says DEBBIE SCOTT... this is the squalid truth By DEBBIE SCOTT Published: 01:54 BST, 18 August 2025 | Updated: 01:54 BST, 18 August 2025 My husband and I stare at our 18-year-old son with our mouths open. ‘To be honest, you two are the odd ones out. Everyone does drugs these days,’ he tells us. Kids and drugs are a constant worry, and especially in the private school setting where it’s impossible not to be aware of the rumours of copious consumption among privileged teenagers. ‘You mean your friends do them?’ I ask tentatively. He snorts. ‘No. Everyone is doing them. The parents too. You’re just really square.’ He dashes out of the house to drive to his job at the local pub as we stare at the kitchen door, horrified and mortified in equal parts. A-level results day was last Thursday – one of the most stressful days of the year for worried mums like me. Not because of the grades, but because of the fear of how the kids might celebrate their success – or attempt to block the disappointment of failure. Suffice to say there are Cotswold manor houses I have banned my son from visiting. But the weekend has been one of the biggest of the year, with As and A stars celebrated with gastropub meals paid for by proud parents, grandparents and a very late Thursday, Friday and Saturday night sponsored by UK drugs cartels. If we lived on a housing estate rather than a village of golden stone manor houses and cottages, you’d call social services, not pop another cork. Living in the middle of nowhere in the Cotswolds, a good hour from any decent nightclub, Debbie Scott says the only celebration option for teenagers is house parties When it comes to drug taking, many of the parents seem to be entirely laissez-faire or, worse, dive right in themselves The ‘you’re so square’ conversation occurred when we discussed what our son was going to do when he got his results, which has caused more arguments than, variously, what he’s going to study at university (ancient history), if his girlfriend could sleep in his bedroom (yes, but only once she turned 18) and whether he can drive my Range Rover (never). It has been a tense conversation, and part of the problem is that my husband and I worry about the drinking and drug taking at parties. Not exclusively among the kids either, you’ll be amazed to hear. It’s the parents who cause concern. Many of them seem to be entirely laissez-faire or, worse, dive right in themselves. Surely, I frequently worry to myself, if something happens there won’t be a responsible adult on the premises to drive to hospital? Or even anyone compos mentis enough to call an ambulance. You think I sound over-protective? At a local party attended by my older daughter, an 18-year-old girl ended up in what’s called a ‘K-hole’ (becoming totally debilitated due to ketamine use). The parents and their friends were far too busy with their own ‘partying’ – blatantly going to the loo every five minutes in pairs and coming back sniffing. They popped her in the spare room and left her to ‘sleep it off’, in spite of my daughter begging them to call an ambulance. My husband and I only heard this tale months later, long after they’d all gone to university, and thankfully my daughter is no longer friends with the family. I had to be physically restrained from calling the mother with my ‘thoughts’. I can still work myself into a rage about it. But living in the middle of nowhere, a good hour from any decent nightclub, the only celebration option for teenagers is house parties. That’s why, two years ago, my husband and I agreed that our now 20-year-old daughter could invite her friends to celebrate their A-level results. Twenty over-excited teens descended on our outbuildings and we provided lasagne, cider, beer and wine. They rapidly drank the house dry, and I think we’d hoped that once the booze was gone they’d go to bed. No such luck. Out came the bottles of vodka, and suddenly I could smell another scent that reminded me of my college days... a pungent waft of something other than the freshly cut lawns. After a muttered conversation with my husband, which I lost, I stormed outside, and confronted two boys huddled by a hedge and smoking a spliff. ‘Put that out right now!’ I yelled. ‘I will not have drugs in my house.’ In the background there was a great deal of drunken sniggering and someone murmuring, ‘Wow, your mum is really uncool.’ The following morning I was informed, not for the first time, that we are, ‘so embarrassing’. My mutinous daughter pointed out that we are the only parents in the whole of the Cotswolds who care about spliff smoking, pill popping and cocaine snorting. Cocaine shame of school-gate mums: ANNA MELTON watched them do it at most immoral time imaginable Other parents, apparently, aren’t just relaxed, but positively allow drug-taking. Some are even ‘so cool and fun’ that they join in. Even allowing for teenage hyperbole, I know this is partly true. I’ve seen or heard about such behaviour on far too many occasions. I became aware of the prevalence of drugs when we first moved here from Manchester five years ago. The kids were 15 and 13. Part of the reason for getting out of the city was how fast children seemed to grow up there, the enormous amount of freedom they had and the dangers they faced as a result. There were 15 and 16-year-olds allowed to roam the city late at night, with what seemed like very relaxed curfews (ie. no curfews), with parents apparently unconcerned that, although they might live in large Victorian houses in leafy areas, they were never more than a stone’s throw away from a drug dealer – or so it seemed to us. We were already aware of tales of weed smoking and older kids taking ketamine, that bladder-destroying horse anaesthetic that’s become so popular as a recreational drug. So we moved to a more rural location, and enrolled our two kids in a local school, which seemed reassuringly unsophisticated. But where there’s demand there’s drugs, with small-time dealers lured by the disposable income of the private school crowd. Even in the small town establishment attended by our two, there were rumours of drug-taking. Horrified, my husband mentioned it to the school, which promised it was hyper-vigilant. Perhaps it was, but what shocked me more than anything was a seemingly sensible parent to whom I mentioned my concerns while on the rugby touchline. ‘You get drugs at all schools,’ he said airily. ‘You need to relax.’ I later found out he was part of the crowd of parents who liked to party hard themselves. Clearly, we’re rarely invited to the parties where drug-taking takes place. We’re sensible types, and while we’re both state-educated, our respective career success has thrown us into the path of wealth and privilege. We enjoy a calmer dinner party circuit; fun comes in the enjoyment of good wine and conversation. Our wildest excess is probably staying up past midnight on New Year’s Eve. So it might seem po-faced that I’m lecturing. Surely if parents are foolish enough to take weed or cocaine, it’s on them? Well, not really. It’s sending an appalling message, especially if they’re obvious about it, and even more so if they think it’s cool to get high with their children. Taking drugs with your kids blurs the boundaries, and suggests it’s acceptable when it isn’t. I’m relieved that, on the whole, my two have sensible friends, but I still worry when they go to bigger parties, in spite of their reassurances that they don’t do drugs themselves. At the weekend, we once again hosted the A-level chaos. Against all odds, my son did better than anyone predicted and deserved his party. We stayed up all night, sober as judges, listening to the sounds of merriment in the garden. At least we knew where the kids were and that the ones who attended knew better than to bring drugs into our home and celebrate their grade As with Class As. Other sensible parents were able to be rest assured that we weren’t chopping out lines of cocaine alongside the teenagers and that had there been a catastrophe, we’d be in a fit state to drive to a hospital. If that makes us super square, that’s fine by me. Debbie Scott is a pseudonym Share or comment on this article: EXPOSED: Cotswolds elite who snort cocaine with their teens. They chop lines in their manor houses and think no one can touch them. I've had enough says DEBBIE SCOTT... this is the squalid truth Add comment