When I ended my last post, my body felt like it had been hit by a bus. Today, it’s feeling much the same. Obviously I exaggerate: it was a metaphorical bus, but still, a bus. Only this time, it wasn’t the running-round-the-park-with-my-boyfriend bus, it was the seeing-in-2019 bus. Safe to say, it’s left me feeling far from fresh.

Usually, I’m not a New Year’s Eve kinda girl. I try, but inevitably find it to be something of an anticlimax. It all feels a bit too ‘forced fun’ as opposed to actual fun. Last year, Rhys and I decided to shun it almost altogether, heading for a small, coastal, boutique hotel to see in 2018. But we decided that to see it out, we ought to make the most of what this sprawling city has to offer. Fast forward through some hours trawling the internet to see what’s what and what’s where on NYE, and considering the party joining us, we shortlisted two candidate venues: the Blitz party, and the Natural History Museum’s ‘party animal’ themed bash. So we tossed a coin and decided on the other. I often find that an excellent way of making a decision, by the way. I toss the coin, then tune into my gut reaction at the revelation of the outcome; if my gut is instantly gratified, then the right decision has been made; if it’s not, then I ignore the coin. Perhaps it was a matter of proximity and the prospect of a lengthier journey home from Shoreditch or perhaps it was the whole ‘animal themed’ thing that got my gut voting for the NHM, after all, I am a self confessed lover of all things country and all things animal. Except rats.

Making the most of a free bed, a party of four – my little sister, Maggie, and old friends Gemma and Lisa, along with Gemma’s husband, Nick – descended upon our little flat a day early, and a dinner at the Electric Diner and cocktails at Beach Blanket Babylon got all the catching up out of the way without me having to turn on the oven! Perfect.

It’s safe to say that the NHM didn’t disappoint. In fact, the only thing that disappointed us was that we spent too long looking at the exhibitions to be able to get our faces painted and the queue into the silent disco was far too long for us to bother – call us impatient if you will, but the night is too short to waste queuing.

We very much enjoyed the musical bingo. You have to give it to bingo, it may be an old classic, it may even be a bit of a cliché, but it it’s always a winner and the musical twist at least got us into the spirit of the evening. Although being competitive, I did keep forgetting that people had already crossed the thresholds of the game before I did, and found myself very nearly waving my card on several occasions. Maggie was luckier, and a fantastic rendition of a ‘snake’ involving an exuberant version of her signature dance move, ‘the worm’ earned her a lovely unicorn headband, which she wore with pride for the rest of the night. And the next day to drive home, much to the amusement of onlookers.

There was something particularly fantastical about a dancefloor flanked by giraffe, mammoth and whale skeletons – especially with so many people having taken up animal themed attire in various degrees of commitment and subtlety – and the strange purple hues of the lights that flooded it. Being exhibitionists of the highest order, the Massaoke and large dance floor provided ample room for ‘creativity’, particularly from our very own unicorn-horned leopard and a befriended peacock, and the ‘feline’ entertainment were very gracious humoring myself and li’l sis when we decided to join one crawling around the dancefloor!!

It was a testament to the entertainment and the general ambiance, or at least, I think it is, that Gemma, who can’t drink at the moment due to medication, also thoroughly enjoyed the night. Let’s face it, we all know how insanely irritating it can be to be surrounded by increasingly drunk people when you’re so very stone-cold-sober yourself. Or possibly it just goes to show what fabulous company we were! Then again it may be just her happy-go-lucky way.

By the time we had imposed on a friend’s flat for a few more hours of revelry and I had disgraced myself with a dreadful example of that other, less impressive and totally unattractive dance move, ‘the slug’, it was time for bed. It’s actually very difficult to do when the rug keeps moving and you have had to much bubbly. I emphasize, it was mainly the rug that saw me fail.

So it was that we rolled in to bed far too well into January’s first to spend too much time there. After all, I had to make the most of having these ‘favourites’ in these parts. So now that I have closed the door and they have gone, the tiredness has hit. True, I have given myself a two-day hangover, and true, I’m definitely not feeling like skipping to the gym, but I love this form of tired, because unlike when you’re frazzled from work or a tedious journey, you look back over why it is you feel so sleepy and you can’t help but giggle. And I’m already thinking, do I need to muster up an excuse to organize the next big night…? Where will 2019’s parties take us? And what will we do to see in 2020…?!!

Happy new year!