Rejoice! New Year’s Eve is cancelled — here’s everything we don’t have to do this year.
By: Harry Pugh
Tags: Funny, New Years Resolutions, Christmas, Comedy, New Years Eve

Look, there are three great truths in this life.

We live. We die. New Year’s Eve is almost always dogshit.

So rejoice, friends. The most expensive anti-climax of the year is illegal. You might think it’s a shame, that you ‘enjoy’ clubbing, that the months of pre-night out lobbying from the influential members of your friendship group are part of ‘democracy in action’, but you are, I’m sorry to say, wrong.

If you remove the detrimental impact this will have on the arts and hospitality industries, this is good news for everyone involved. Think of the money you’ll save. Think how much more likely you’ll be to complete your new year’s resolutions if you don’t go into 2021 £300 poorer and with the biggest hangover of the year.

Think about all the things you won’t have to do. Think. About. It. The list is endless. And by endless, I mean 5. And so:

1. Find someone to kiss

11.59pm on the 31st December is many things. It is the last minute of the year. It is a chance to reflect with pride and regret, to look forward with hope and worry, to -if you’re into that sort of thing- get caught up in one truly inclusive moment with the ones you love.

“Happy New Year, pal”

It is not the film The Purge but on the common rules of snogging decency. It wasn’t ok to kiss your friends on the mouth at 4.30pm on a Wednesday in October and it isn’t ok now.

Essentially, you can have a year off from desperately trying to snog your mates. Result! For everyone! So take that frantic, smooch seeking energy and spread it out across the year. It’ll probably come across as a sort of confident charm when divided by 365 and you’ll end up in a loving but ultimately doomed relationship.

2. Avoid someone looking for someone to kiss

[11.59pm, 2019, 31st December, your hometown, a disco]

There he is (and statistically, it is a he), standing on the edge of the dance floor. The countdown begins:

“10!” He steps on to the floor.

“9!” He winks with one and a half eyes at you.

“8!” He pulls out a chapstick and applies so much it looks like he’s preparing his lips for an ultrasound.

“7!” He aims the chapstick at you like a pistol and fires it off.

“6!” He blows the top like it’s a smoking gun and holsters it in his bum-bag.

“5!” You turn to see if anyone else is available for you to snog. Everyone else is gearing up for snogs elsewhere. Shit.

(Fun fact: 95% of all NYE snogs are done to avoid snogging somebody else.)

“4!” For one brief second, the strobe catches him and he looks good, handsome even. You realise, shit, this is it, he’s the one, how have I never seen this before? I love him. I. Love. Him. Oh my god, I need to..

A visual aid.

“3!” The strobe catches him again and the thick layer of chapstick on his lips looks like the jelly on the meat of a pork pie. You think, no, probably not actually.

“2!” You pull out your phone. Your dad texted you at 9.45pm “happy nw yr 0f 2 bed nw lol best dad”.

“1!” You scream: I have to take this! Holding your phone backwards and upside down to your ear, you sprint from the dance floor.

“Happy New Year!!!” Alone in the smoking area, you pray for a global pandemic in 2020 so you don’t have to go through this shit again.

3. Paying to go to a pub

“That Red Stripe will be £37. Thank you muchly”

The NYE economy, like a motorway services or an airport, rests on one simple principle: you have no choice but to pay.

Just as somehow it makes sense to spend £1.25 on a Greggs steak bake in Bristol city centre and £45 on one at Moto Severn View Services, logic dictates that a pub I would normally enter free of charge now demands £18 entry just because they’ve put the music on a bit louder and the barman is wearing some novelty sunglasses.

This year, forgo that rip off. Call your living room something funny like ‘The Covid Arms’ or ‘the Prince of Covid’, make a little sign, drink cans out of pint glasses.

Then ‘come home from the pub’ i.e. take the sign down. Put in ‘the call’, stop pouring the cans into pint glasses and set about righting the world’s wrongs/talking about your emotions with an astonishing level of sincerity for approx. 6–8 hours.

4. Going to a nightclub you’re far too old or young to be in

Pubs aside, NYE nightlife caters exclusively for the under 25s and the over 40s. Your 2 options are broadly thus:

I got 4 texts suggesting we go here in 2019.

£75 to go to a super club for an incredibly high concept apocalypse themed fancy dress night like 1980s High School Zombie Apocalypse or The Roaring 20s Nuclear Apocalypse. You will go and bump into a minimum of 10 of your younger siblings’ friends. They will play a song you don’t recognise at midnight and everyone will go mad and you’ll pretend you know it too. You will learn 6 new pieces of slang and misuse 4 of them that very evening. You will feel like a fraud. £40 (£55 with mezze platter and 2 glasses of ‘bubbles’) to go to a city centre restaurant that has pushed the tables to the side and will play a collection of ‘world’ music for 2 hours before someone puts a Motown Gold compilation on until they kick out at 2am. You will go and bump into a minimum of 15 of your friend’s parents. They will play Celebration by Kool & the Gang at midnight and the mums and dads will go fucking bananas. Your future will terrify you.

“Hello officers, yep, just me here.”

So, do something age appropriate this year and sit in your lounge listening to all the music you listened to as a teenager. Sing along so loudly the neighbours call the police because they think you’re having a party. Then when the police arrive it’s just you, surrounded by 8 Tyskies, screaming along to The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance. Heaven.

Then, next morning, spend all that money you saved on some practical footwear or pay off some of your credit card.

5. Staying up past midnight

I like to celebrate NYE Iranian style. By that I mean counting down at around 8.30pm Greenwich Mean Time. “Why are you going to bed at 11pm?” idiots ask. “It’s 2.30am in Tehran and I am pooped. Now I bid you شب بخیر,” this genius replies.

A ‘joke’ explained.

Admittedly, this approach isn’t for everyone. Some people are night owls. I am not a night owl. I am a day pig. I’m up at 6am. Is that to be productive or is it because there’s only so long you can stare at the ceiling ? Who can truly say? Either way, this piggy’s up and sniffing for activities. Ready to seize the day in his limp, exhausted trotters.

Just let me rest.

NYE is a challenge for the day pig. Especially a day pig pushing 30 who is writing this at 10.45am and is frankly already exhausted. The pressure to stay up is a lot of weight on his muddy, sleep deprived shoulders. Let him skulk off to bed or doze right there on the sofa. He’s had a long day.

The point is, go to bed when you want this year. Oink. Oink.