Despite my best efforts, New Year’s Eve did not pass me by completely unnoticed. I really believed that this year I could stay in and fall asleep on the sofa with my face in a pizza box having sunk a bottle (or two) of rosé blush, but I was beaten down by some well-meaning (I think) friends who convinced me that it would all be glorious. Just one snag: we would be getting a train all the way into the country to ring in the new year. “Well, that’s lovely,” I said, as I envisaged myself in a cosy country pub with the log fire burning, the champagne flowing (this is a fantasy remember) and the pianist playing mellow jazz in the corner.
Fast forward to 10.30pm and I am hunched over my vinegar - sorry, ‘white wine’ - in the Bricklayer’s Arms, locally known as ‘The Bricks’, and we are now settled in a little corner booth with a good view of the woman on her own who is so pissed she can’t lift her head off the table and the family who apparently encourages their children to wear bondage gear. I kid you not.
Happily, my friend notices a sign advertising that they have put on a free buffet - joy! And as I am the lucky girl who has been nominated to negotiate my way through the crowd, I set off on an interesting journey into the back room. I say interesting, as when I pass The Bondage Family (as I now like to call them) I notice that the teenage daughter’s thong has studs for décor – and her netted top so delicately reveals that she has a matching bra. Do I phone the Social Services now or after I have collected my free food? Tricky.Anyway, I make it to the buffet table and am confronted with carcasses: some sort of bird, a thing that used to be a sausage before becoming charred beyond all recognition and, as the landlady comes over to explain, deep fried prawns “for the vegetarians”. Oh, goody.
“I had it all so carefully planned! It was so simple: order my half Veg-a-Roma half Mighty Meaty, slump into my pyjamas and resolutely refuse to acknowledge the dashed hopes that were flying out with 2009. But no, ‘you can’t stay in on your own!’ (oh, really?)”
I make it back to the vinegar/wine with a plate that resembles a scene from Saw and tell myself that I must get into the party mood. So, 11.30pm and I am now swaying to the sound of my friend singing American Pie very loudly - and then it hit me. 2010 was about to arrive. Shit. I hadn’t achieved my resolutions for 2009 and now I had more to pile on to the festering heap that constituted my ambitions, my hopes, my aspirations.
He moves onto You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’ and the despair openly floods the backwater bar as I mentally clutch about for the slippery answer to that universal question that the disappointed ask themselves: “where did it all go wrong?”
How did I end up here? I had it all so carefully planned! It was so simple: order my half Veg-a-Roma half Mighty Meaty, slump into my pyjamas and resolutely refuse to acknowledge the dashed hopes that were flying out with 2009. But no, “you can’t stay in on your own!” (oh, really?) “you have to come with us” (why?). So I am sitting in The Bricks with my best friends and now several shots of sambuca and the failure that was 2009 is right there in front of me and I have to face it because I don’t have the pizza, the pyjamas, or the rosé blush to take my mind off it. I don’t even have the log fire, the champagne or the mellow jazz. Just The Bondage Family and the woman who still can’t lift her head off the table. Actually, by this time I am not sure if she is conscious anymore.
2010 arrives with my friend leading the united chorus of Auld Lang Syne (I hate Burns; patronising pastiche poet) and I throw the sambuca down as I say goodbye to the excitement and adventure that was supposed to be 2009. I link arms with Bondage Dad and compliment him on his dog collar as I welcome in yet another mediocre and monotonous year which will be spent in an office in front of an Excel spreadsheet.
And just as I feel like putting my head on the table and despairing of my sorry predicament, the woman opposite lifts hers and she gives me a thumbs up. Staggered, I reciprocate and wonder if things are going to be that bad this year after all.
But then she leans to one side and vomits all over Bondage Mum’s coffin-shaped handbag. Welcome to 2010, then. Read more by Naomi.
