Polly Vernon
Give or take those THREE GLASSES of p’seccs* at Hels’ 30th… oh, and the TWO Malbecs
with my mate Bona in her restaurant last Saturday… Give or take them, I have just completed the first recorded incident of Dry January By Accident. Let me be clear: I did not mean to (almost) not drink for 31 days. I had no desire to wine-dodge for a month. I mean, all respect to those who did and everything, but Dry Janning It shows a gross lack of imagination. I like to think of myself as more interesting than that. Apparently, I’m not. Five teeny spread-out units over 31 days? That doesn’t even qualify as a moist January.
How did I achieve such an embarrassingly abstinent start to my year? I blame everyone else. Partly because you’re all Dry Janning On Purpose (cringe), and are therefore not providing me with the wing people I require to go out and get gently lashed on a Wednesday. Mostly because, as a mass, as joint contributors to the wider cultural moment: you’ve lost all urge to party lately.
Remember parties? Back in the time before Trump and terrorism, Russian interference in international electoral systems and white supremacists waving Tiki torches? Before award ceremonies became protests, Friends got denounced for having un-woke undertones and marching became the new brunch? Before things got so damn serious all the time?
Me neither. I mean: I have the occasional flashback to… Wait. Was that dancing? And laughing? And getting ready and getting giddy and a sense that something extraordinary could happen, and by ‘extraordinary’ I could mean ‘unseemly’ but, then again, I could also mean ‘wonderful’? And karaoke and crying and giving up on your heels and going barefoot and waking up in quite the wrong bed, in a part of town you didn’t even know existed, and thinking it was hilariously funny? And, and… just being silly?
In 2018, the very idea of ‘parties’ seems off. Inappropriate and gauche; ‘tone deaf ’, a ‘misreading of the room’. Have fun, when things are so grim? Spend a night boozing and flirting and not worrying or checking your privilege or posting something righteous on Facebook? Is that even legal?
These are dark, difficult times. Bad things are happening, being covered up or exposed; people are responding with anger and anxiety, hashtags and placards. Not raving, but raging. It’s hardly surprising that modern ideas of a ‘good time’ peak with box sets and internet cats; texting ‘LOL’, but never actually doing it.
It is a shame, though. *What the young people are calling prosecco… YES THEY ARE. I HEARD THEM.