Well, it’s the New Year and the world is, as my mother has previously informed me, my onion (She added ‘And that’s Shallot!’ before breaking into peals of cackling laughter). And so, with title explained, and the whole onion before me, we can begin.
I had decided not to make a New Year’s resolution this year and snottily looked down my nose at everyone at work today, as they arranged gym buddies and discussed arid, fun free Januarys (Neither you, I, nor the gymnasium you are about to make very rich believes that you are going to swap beer for Body Pump, my rotund friend). That was until I was musing on the train about how I had started the year as I mean to go on, and so my resolution this year is just, frankly, to have much more fun.
On New Year’s Eve I went out with some friends from college that I don’t see very much, and the endless hilarity that ensued reminded me that sometimes what you need is a good night out. It started as all such activities do, with four girl awkwardly contorted around a full length mirror, politely apologising as they each attempt to get at least one eyelash enough in view to put some mascara on it. One girl always turns up fully dressed, greeting everyone with accidental dismay as she takes in their jean/jumper combos. For once this girl was not me, and fortunately for her we weren’t downplaying it so much that we were going out without any make up on. This level of cool I fear I will never achieve.
Many a gin and tonics later, and the clock struck midnight. Twenty boys and girls leapt up and down in the middle of the flat, the floor bowing and springing beneath them. Twenty boys and girls kissed, sticky elderflower cocktails spilling into hair and down pretty dresses. Twenty boys and girls cheered. Not one person turned into a pumpkin.
At 1am we ventured out into a damp manchester street, bottles of gin passed from hand to hand, white breath hung on night air. The bus off-loaded us into a cobbled street and we stumbled towards heaving bass, clutching at each other, wobbling in high heels. The rest is a blur of dancing and faces and awkwardly falling off a weird podium/only being able to dance with boys that weren’t shorter than me if they stood on the weird podium. Fun was had by all.
Eventually, they turned the lights on to get rid of us (“Come on let’s go!” “Dern DernDern DernDern Dern Dern DernDernDernDERN…You can’t leave in the middle of Nirvana!”). Outside, suddenly very sober, a charming gentleman introduced himself to me and Rosie:
Him: Good night, girls?
Us: Yeah, really good!
Him: Let me have a kiss! (Kisses Rosie on cheek. Goes in for fancy handshake.)
Rosie: (Fumbles fancy handshake)
Him: (Turns to me, goes in for kiss and fancy handshake)
Me: (Stone cold nails fancy handshake)
Him: You shake hands like a black man!
Me: (Laughing) Thanks!
(We are called to the bus and begin to walk away)
Him: (Shouting after us) You’re a beautiful woman Elsa, but you shake hands like a black man!
Me: Thank you!
Rosie: (Wets self with laughter)
The next morning I woke up sandwiched between two people. I got up to make all three of us a cup of tea and opened the door to a room full of prostrate bodies. Bodies in sleeping bags. Bodies fully clothed. Bodies using liquor bottles as pillows. And suddenly, grinning, I thought to myself, let’s make 2016 a little bit more like this.