Staying up to see in the new year is a lot of old hogwash

Once upon a time, I would stay up late for more or less anything. A party, of course, and nightclubbing – can you imagine?! If people were going back to someone’s room at uni, just for more chat, I’d be there. A late dinner after post-work drinks? Count me in. The evening’s final screening at the cinema? Why not. Whereas most of my friends had the sense to “give this one a miss” from time to time, my FOMO (fear of missing out) would inevitably kick in, and I’d be determined to kick on into the small hours. One more drink? Go on then...

Nowadays you might struggle to tempt me out to a sweaty nightclub, but if you were offering up a nightcap at a dusky private members’ club, I’d almost certainly be unable to resist. And while I could probably live without a raucous house party, if some pals come round for what the old Chipping Norton set might call a “kitchen supper”, I’ll be the one urging them not to leave just yet when midnight approaches. Likewise, when I’m at their house, you can bet your bottom dollar it’ll be me outstaying my welcome and agreeing that, yes, opening another bottle of wine would be just the thing. Even when left to my own devices, I’ll probably still be scrolling through Twitter/X or checking the latest cricket scores late into the night.

Yet there is one occasion that proves the exception to the rule. When everyone else is getting roused up to see in the new year with hard liquor, fireworks and “Auld Lang Syne”, I will – if at all possible – be nowhere to be seen, unless you happen to be looking in my bed. Weirdo.