You don’t like it, I don’t like it. But why?
“Oh, everyone’s expectations are just too high and then it’s always rubbish”
“Everywhere’s full of knobheads”
“You feel like you have to go out and do something amazing when you’d really just rather stay in and eat Pringles”
Now, whilst these things may all be true, each one could actually be said of any night out, we’re just too eager to avoid being written off as social oddities to admit it.
It seems to me that new year’s eve is merely a scapegoat for every other crappy night out we’ve ever had. The only difference is that we’re allowed to moan about new year, whilst the rest of the year we have to pretend to be up for leaving the house every Friday/Saturday evening when we’d really prefer to stay in and watch Cold Feet.
The problem with new year is its position. Right there at the end of the Christmas period when we all so desperately need a reason not to just crawl into a hole and wait for March, it really can’t win. It would take the discontinuation of No Added Sugar squash, a rail fare decrease and a BOGOF offer on mini marshmallows to make me welcome January with open arms but, let’s face it, that is never going to happen.
My personal disdain for the eve has been built up over a number of years. It started when I was at a new year’s eve house party at the age of about 16 where I witnessed a semi-conscious peer throwing up whichever type of alcohol comes out bright pink all over himself.
In fact, pretty much all my dislike for new year is stemmed in vomit (other people’s, I might add). Why is it that people are so much more likely to throw up on that particular night? Perhaps it’s just a way to pass the time.
Because the other thing about new year that wrinkles my nose is just how long a night it is. If you’re anything like me – i.e with the outer shell of a 24 hour party person but the inner makings of a late twenties pensioner – you will consider midnight to be the end of an evening, assuming that evening has gone extremely well. But on new year’s eve, midnight is the pinnacle, the climax, the whole flamin’ point of the night, so you can’t bugger off just before it. You’ve got to be there, party popper in hand, and your game face on, ready to party into the early hours.
If a normal party does go on ’til 2 or 3 in the morning and the DJ is light on the Hi Ho Silver Lining and heavy on the Village People then of course I will tear up the dance floor with the rest of them. Just don’t tell me before I leave the house that I have to stay that long. Let it be a lovely surprise for me. And a nasty shock for anyone who happens to be in the vicinity.
The trick I’ve learnt for enjoying yourself on new year’s eve is this: just do something you’d happily do any other night of the year. If you don’t like boiling hot and sticky clubs of an ordinary weekend, the odds are you’ll detest them on new year’s eve. And they’ll charge you the price of a five-door vehicle to find out. Similarly, if standing on the Southbank for ten hours isn’t your idea of a day well spent, why do it on what will definitely be one of the colder nights of the year? Up to you though.
No, instead just be yourself in the company of people you like but perhaps throw on a little bit of glitter to get you in the mood. Yes, I am still following the party make-up tips I read in Sugar magazine 11 years ago. They’ve never let me down.
So now all that’s left is to wish you a very happy new year, and a tolerable 31st December.
Oh and watch what you eat this evening. Odds are you’ll see it in reverse tomorrow.