Monday 22 January 2018

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

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 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 hotpress 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 reveler 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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