So here we are on the cusp of the New Year and I have that guilt.
You know the kind.
The kind of guilt that says, "NO! You CANNOT change into your pajamas at eight pm and you CANNOT have some cocoa and fall asleep on the sofa while watching Jools Holland fart about sycophantically with Razorlight and aged African men wearing dresses and shaking rain-sticks. For it is NEW YEAR'S EVE and you are YOUNG (ish) so you must GO OUT ON THE TOWN in your tightest, glitziest clothes and most vertiginous heels, drink champagne kirs, do the YMCA dance, count down from ten and snog your way into 2009 WITH GUSTO."
Gusto schmusto. This year I am defying the guilt and the slipper-boots are staying on. I will lurk indoors, drink a moderate amount of alcohol and GO TO BED WHENEVER THE HELL I PLEASE.
Why?
Ladies and gentlemen, may I present my top 5 worst New Year's Eves....
1. Pukey New Year
I don't remember the year, but I was in my teens so it would have been the 1990s. I was at some random house party, getting nicely hammered on cheap cider when my friend T wobbled over, looking green and glazed.
"I need some air," she told me. "Come and help me find some air."
T was a famous lightweight, so I had no qualms about doing my due diligence and holding her hair while she coughed up the three thimbles of wine into the downstairs loo. Someone banged on the door, wanting to come in for a pee or a shag.
"We'll just be a minute!" I yelled.
But we weren't. We were HOURS. God knows what T had ingested, but it was a tenacious bugger, gluing itself to her insides as she Ralphed and Hughed enthusiastically into the loo pan. It went on for so long that I got used to the smell, my arms grew tired from holding her hair, and my lips ran out of comforting platitudes.
After a while the banging on the door morphed into a happy shouting: "5! 4! 3!...", etc., and when it got to one, T twisted her head around to face me, mascara, tears and snot pooling into the corners of her mouth.
"Habbly New Shear," she said, dribbling diced carrots onto her chin.
"Hm," I replied.
2. Pikey New Year
Another teenage misadventure - this particular year, after frequenting countless free festivals, my friends and I developed a passionate love affair with the concept of becoming new-age travellers. I had cultivated some stunning dreadlocks, and one of our friends had actually bought a caravan, and through some arrangement with a local farmer, had parked it in a nearby field.
And it was across this field we traipsed one snowy 31st December, laden with logs for the fire and bottles of cheap beer. Unfortunately we couldn't work the furnace and hadn't brought a bottle opener. So we sat there looking at each other under the harsh electric light, freezing, desperately trying to start a conversation (but we had been in each other's company for most of Christmas so there was very little to talk about).
After a while someone said, "What time is it?"
Which is when we realised that none of us had a watch. So we sat around a bit more - two of our party started snogging passionately (which was a bit awkward for the rest of us, given that the caravan was roughly the size of a single bed). In the end we just gave up and went home.
3. Big Ben FAIL
By the time we were 19, we'd had enough of this downhome caravan-and-house-party lark. We were going to spend New Year's Eve in London! Party town! Yeah! So we put ourselves on a train to the fair capital, our little country eyes shining with promises of hot chestnuts and sparklers and random clubbing with indie pop stars (because that's what happens in London, right?).
Somehow we managed to find our way to Westminster and crammed ourselves into the crowd under Big Ben. The atmosphere was buzzing as the countdown began - 10! 9! 8! etc.- we all held hands and jumped up and down as the minute-hand neared 12, waiting for the dongs.
One minute to 12...
One minute past 12...
Eh?
Puzzled, we looked at each other, then looked up. Two minutes past 12. Far away, we heard cheering.
Turns out that you can't hear the dongs of Big Ben if you stand directly underneath. Once we realised this, a new truth struck us - we didn't have any money. And the last train home had gone. And I started to realise that I had the flu.
FAIL.
2. Millennial Smooch FAIL
It would have been so romantic - to declare one's feelings at midnight at the turn of the century. The perfect moment for this friendship that had smouldered over the past year to grow into something more.
The mood was set. We'd enjoyed a cosy candlelit dinner, had opened some champagne, and were now sharing an umbrella in my back garden, enjoying the firework display across the road.
He held my champagne as I lit a sparkler for each of us. A particularly lively artillery of fireworks indicated that midnight had struck. We clinked our glasses, wished each other Happy New Year, looked into each other's eyes a moment too long. My heart started to race, then I realised my shoelace was undone. As I bent down to tie it, something blurred past my eye and then landed an awkward kiss on my cheek.
About a month later, when we actually got together, I learned that he had been going in for a smooch.
Oops.
1. Concussive New Year
Exactly one year later, with the same boyfriend (and current squeeze). It was our first New Year's Eve together-together. We snuggled on the sofa, opened the champagne early, toasted each other.... And fell asleep.
I woke with a start. I had secreted under the bed a surprise present for the boyfriend, intending to hand it to him on the stroke of midnight. I checked the clock: 11:59. Not entirely awake, I vaulted over the sofa, skidded into the hall and darted into the bedroom.
Except I missed by a few inches.
And hit the doorframe instead.
There was a short period of darkness, and when I came to, the boyfriend was standing over me, looking concerned, and a small but painful lump was rising on the side of my head.
And it was 12:03am.
FAIL.
So Happy New Year to you all! May your celebrations be safe, warm and appropriate.
Image courtesy of SewPixie's Flickr stream.
