SO the first bit of the festive season is all done and now on to the biggest night out of the year. New Year’s Eve, three words that actually fill me with dread. It’s a night where people who don’t normally go out, get their glad rags on and go out and party. It means the normal venues I go to for a drink are absolutely packed to the rafters. The bar is ten deep and I have the privilege of paying to get into a bar that is usually free. Standing next to people in such a bar is made all the worse by the expectation that everyone should be ecstatic on the last day of the year. Having been out on a fair few nights out this year, I’ve had my fill, I’m dreaming of going home and my bed, not watching squiffy strangers slobber all over each other at midnight. And don’t get me started on taxis, charging me fifty four times the normal price, that’s if you can book one at all. Then I have a 3 year old who will be whacking me in the face with her foot in the middle of the night, before shouting “IT’S WAKEY TIME!” whilst turning on every light in the house, jumping on my neck and pulling my eyelids open with a shark grabber. It’s wearing me out just thinking about it. So this year, I will be at a house party....for one.

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