Polly Vernon

AS Christmas party season hits us like a FREIGHT TRAIN, so I congratulate

myself on perhaps my greatest ever achievement: giving everyone the impression I’m this massive party girl, when what I actually am is a massive Go To Bed Early girl. A girl filled with a sense of doom if the possibility of going ‘on’ anywhere is ever mooted (two venues in one night? Two?).

And yet: for years, my rep has been of a rager. A raver. A non-stop giddy whirl of decadence, dancing on tables, goosing the maître d’, meandering home barefoot accompanied by some guy I just met who used to be Big In Brit Pop. People are constantly reminding me of naughty things I didn’t do, at parties I was never at.

This is brilliant, of course. Being widely perceived as far more exciting than you actually are, without it bothering your eight-hours-a-night sleep? Yes, please!

However, a faux-bad rep like mine requires maintenance. Here’s how it’s done: I make a habit of turning down two out of every three party invitations. People assume it’s because I’ve had a better offer, which I have, it’s just my idea of ‘ better offer’ = early bedtime. In the case of that third, unavoidable, necessary-evil party: I’ll arrive an hour late, wearing something 30% more glamorous than is appropriate. This means people are dazzled by my vibe, offended by my lateness, and sexually threatened by how I’m pointing my rogue cleavage at the person they fancy. This is known as Making An Entrance. It gives the impression you’re here to stay, which of course, I’m not.

Next: I establish an ‘area’, a banquette or similar, on which I perch, coquettishly, receiving people. I will not go to them, trusting only that they will come to me, and once they start, they won’t stop, in the same way people queue for a restaurant they’ve never heard of just because everyone else is. I’ll grace each with a bonne mot or a risqué opinion I don’t actually hold. If anyone attempts to selfie with me, I’ll kick off like Tyson Fury. I will not explain why, allowing them to conclude I’m probably in hiding. This is known as Showing People A Good Time.

I will flirt outrageously with someone much younger and someone much older than me. I will drink no more than two vodka tonics. I will stay no longer than an hour and a half. When everyone else is (almost) too drunk to care, I shall attempt a French exit. On getting caught, I’ll offer no explanation; simply smile, shrug, and slip away like I’m off to a place too decadent to name.

Then: Uber, bed – my reputation intact.