The New Year

Happy New Year!

I'm sure many of you reading this probably don't recall much of what happened on New Years Eve. Or should I say, what happened after midnight on New Years Day.

Yes, me too. I remember the most important parts however, and that's always most important, nuh?

It seems to me that South of the river is where all the trendy people are moving. A lot of my friends have moved into my own area over the past few months. This fills me with joy. Joy at the sheer number of dinners and cocktail-drinking sessions which are undoubtedly on the cards.

And for once, I didn't have to trek into Central London to have a good time. A ten minute bus ride and I was at Lady Capulet's flat, ready to claim the house party.

Miss Best Boobs was also present, looking fitter than ever. As was Aliena who spent the night at my flat.

Whilst it may surprise some of you to know this, I haven't really been to many house parties; in fact, this was my second. That said, the loss of my House party virginity was indeed a merry occasion.

Our contribution was a bottle of Vodka and two beers. Needless to say, this paled into insignificance once we saw the drinks table - enough booze to open an offy of our very own.

Having an unmanned bar can be a disaster. You never really know how much to pour, whether the drink you are pouring has been tampered with by the local druggy (a must have for every party) and a single shot can become a double in a matter of mili seconds. And once all the mixing is done, what often remains is a muddle of shivering and (often) giggling flesh on the (by now messy) floor.

And then there was the war of the DJs. Aliena insisting on Britney Spears whilst the others preferring something a little more Indy. Having said this, once the alcohol consumption described above had taken place, any music was good music. Any music could be danced to, and we did. To the point where everybody formed a drunken circle and pushed me into the centre. Now, you know how I hate being the centre of attention don't you?


At the important hour we went outside, party-poppers in one hand and a bottle of champagne (almost each) in the other.

And when it was time, there was hugging and singing and I'm sure somebody thought it hilarious and festive to shower me in Champagne thereby ruining my hair and my newly acquired shirt. Thankfully by this point I was beyond caring and well caught up the festive mood. I recall thinking there were far worse liquids to shower under.

And this is when it all starts - the flirting, the singing, the dancing, the drinking (yes, even more of it), the running around and kissing inappropriate people and the giggling. It strikes me that when drunk, an awful lot of people would laugh at just about anything.

In terms of romantic liaisons, New Years Eve belongs undoubtedly to Aliena who had a vast number of men wrapped around her finger. Some told her she was incredibly hot, others asked for a ciggy and casually placed their hand over her bum. That said, she didn't really reciprocate any of their flirtatious behaviour. Probably because they both had partners. And this is something Aliena would not, ordinarily, do.

This hang up over attached people is something Aliena needs to get over quickly. The idea of banging your way into the new year is sexy and liberating. Who cares that he might have a girlfriend. The chances are, the day after, you probably won't ever remember his face.

As much as I love the idea holding my own house party, my love of Beige carpets would always prevent me from doing so. Unless of course, I taped bin liners all over the floor. That might work