I love New Year’s par­ties, just as long as they’re not in my house!

Bray People - - THE NOTEBOOK WICKLOW - Jus­tine yno­haM’O

MY GOOD na­ture was taken ad­van­tage of dur­ing the Christ­mas fes­tiv­i­ties! Those who shall re­main name­less but call them­selves my hus­band and chil­dren used the fact that if you ply me with enough gin & tonic I'm li­able to agree to any­thing. They roped me into hav­ing a new year's eve party whilst I was un­der the in­flu­ence and made me call ev­ery­one of our ac­quain­tance to in­vite them be­fore I sobered up and changed my mind.

I'm not one of those peo­ple who claim ev­ery year to hate New Year's Eve and then go on a mad tear, still moan­ing about the fact they hate new years eve. Those peo­ple really an­noy me. If you don't like it just stay in and wal­low in your mis­ery! Don't bore ev­ery­body else with it! I ac­tu­ally like New Year's Eve and I love par­ties... just as long as they're not in my house!

My nat­u­ral dis­po­si­tion is one of ab­ject lazi­ness. I could quite hap­pily loll around do­ing noth­ing ev­ery day of the week. I love be­ing the life and soul of the party as long as it's not my party. I hate the whole prepa­ra­tion part. The tidy­ing of the house, the cook­ing of the food, the mak­ing sure the bath­room is in a state fit for pub­lic use, the hoover­ing and pol­ish­ing and get­ting out all your best glasses that can't be put in the bloody dish­washer.

I'd much rather avail of some­one else's hos­pi­tal­ity, drink their wine, eat their food, dance on their fur­ni­ture and go home af­ter­wards in­stead of hand­wash­ing dozens of feckin glasses at five in the morn­ing.

Op­er­a­tion Trans­for­ma­tion got un­der­way the night be­fore New Year's Eve when Him­self in­sisted on mov­ing all the fur­ni­ture around and hov­er­ing un­der the so­fas. “Who is go­ing to be look­ing un­der the so­fas?” I asked him. “You never know,” he replied ob­tusely. The bath­room was scoured and the good Paul Costello tow­els came out of the back of the hot-press with a dire warn­ing to the chil­dren not to wash their hands on them un­der pain of death. They were also warned if they went near the Jo Malone hand­wash that I had bor­rowed from the Mother in Law, I would chop their hands off! I made a chicken satay from scratch (OK I used jars of satay paste but that's from scratch for me) and Him­self had enough drink to open our own she­been. We were all set.

THE GUESTS ar­rived, lots of al­co­hol was con­sumed. My chicken satay went down a treat, we held hands and sang the oblig­a­tory auld lang syne and the last rev­eller left at 4.45 am at which point I was prac­ti­cally push­ing them out the door.

‘Well that was a great night, wasn't it?’ said Him­self smugly as he shut the door. ‘I'm sober,’ I replied, as­tounded. ‘I haven't been sober on New Year's eve since I was 16,’ I said in shock. ‘Ah you never drink as much when its in your own house,’ says The Fount of all Knowl­edge. ‘Yeah I can see why. I spent the whole night top­ping up other peo­ple's glasses and pick­ing them up when they fell off chairs,’ I said snap­pily as I sur­veyed the ar­ray of dirty dishes and glasses that lit­tered ev­ery avail­able sur­face.

‘Ah it was great. Sure we'll do it again next year,’ he says en­thu­si­as­ti­cally. ‘ We will in our necks! Next year I'm stay­ing in and wal­low­ing in my own mis­ery. It's cheaper, cleaner and a lot less work.’ Happy New Year!

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