Can you contain your excitement? There are just a few more hours to get through and then, whoopee, it’s the big one: New Year’s Eve. The blow-out to end all blow-outs. Fun with a capital F. The party of parties.
Excuse me, if you will, but I’ll pass. I hate New Year’s Eve, you see. I don’t just dislike it; I hate it. If New Year’s Eve was a person, I’d hate it as much as I hate Kim Kardashian and an ex friend, my two hate-figures. In fact, I’d hate it even more than I hate them. (That’s, seven ‘hates’ in this paragraph so far. I hope you are getting an inkling as to just how much I hate it – and that’s now eight.)
Who actually enjoys it?. Maybe it’s not the thousands who turn up at Trafalgar Square to attempt to recreate the Hillsborough Stadium crush, only this time with added booze. Maybe it isn’t even people who go out on 31 December to parties full of people they barely know, get plastered, grab the nearest person for a snog, throw up, dance, throw up again, and then discover that they’re miles from home and there’s no transport.
Honestly, it’s a waste of time. So excuse me whilst I eat chinese, get drunk alone, pass out by 10pm, and wake up on the 1st with more money than the idiots who spent it out.
Good Riddance 2012 – you were shit.