‘For this one magical night it’s about getting another chance, to do more, to give more, to love more: that is what new years is all about- that, and a good party’.
That’s the sound-bite for the latest Hollywood blockbuster, ‘New Years Eve’ which looks set to ruin our New Year’s Eve experience for years to come with visions of what could have been, if only we were beautiful, wealthy and lived in New York. (Much like Valentine’s Day was a cruel treat for potential couples everywhere last year: come on, what date did you have that would have been better than Bradley Cooper or Jessica Alba?)
But despite this prevision of comparative doom… what are we getting up to on New Years Eve? The night when clubs charge astronomical fees for awesome nights; when fireworks paint the sky over London Southbank; and when champagne is definitely the new tequila. To that end I have sought out the stories of our most beloved fellow students whose exploits or lack of are the real story of New Years Eve, midnight kisses and all..
The One Who Didn’t Make it to Midnight
I was the one who didn’t manage to see in the new year. It began civilized; I had mulled wine and nibbles with a friend from school whilst we waited for my other friend to turn up. We’d decided on a nice quiet new years eve at our local seeing as everyone was either away or with family. However, when said friend arrived, with them came vodka and a lot of whiskey. From that point, my night went downhill. I made it to the pub but after shots, throwing up in the beer garden and breaking a shelf in the toilet, (I am told at this point I whispered ‘oh no!’ and tried to hide in a cubicle), I got taken home. At half ten. To my Christian parents, who have never seen me drunk before. I woke up at 5am cuddling the toilet.
Anonymous
The Londoner
As many a Londoner will tell you, the fireworks that light up the Southbank are incredible and a worthy way to see in the New Years; but what they won’t mention is the six hour wait in the freezing cold as you jostle for a place on a nearby bridge, warding off the killer winds which sweep down the Thames and the droves of snap-happy tourists keen to nick your spot. So, this New Years I decided to do it the civilized way: dinner with friends at a house in Westminster tall enough to afford us a perfect view of the fireworks from the roof once the clock struck midnight. And until midnight? A pool table and a plentiful supply of wine kept us thoroughly entertained. New Years didn’t get messy; but it was a great evening and I was happy to be seeing in 2012 with old friends, catching up a term’s worth of conversation and having my butt kicked at pool. It was certainly a night to remember and I hope that it is a sign of things to come: if 2012 is anything like as chilled out as new years eve, then I’ll be one happy student.
Viccy Ibbett
The Country Boy
We country-folk find it difficult to get out to all of your fancy London night clubs and thus an alternative method of getting truly mapped at New Years is to perform a house invasion. This year we arrived at the designated person’s house with enough alcohol each to leave us in hospital with a reasonably serious coma but nonetheless still had the intention of drinking every drop. The main activity of the night was drinking games which included the regular card games and culminated in a game entitled ‘Doggy Do’ of which the aim was to force a plastic dog to defecate by squeezing its lead.
After these various activities for forcing alcohol into our respective systems mania ensued and ultimately, the next thing I personally remember is waking up in a shredded paper table cloth on a stone kitchen floor wearing a shirt that I hadn’t yet realised wasn’t mine after being repeatedly shot in the face by a Nerf gun. The rest of New Years Day was spent with my head in my hands as I was dragged out to a family meal in a country pub where I watched as a roast dinner was placed in front of me and then taken away, completely uneaten, half an hour later. Overall, the moments of this New Years Eve that I remember will certainly be difficult to forget.
Anonymous
The Girly Night In
What better way to pay tribute to the end of 2011 than a night gossiping with the girlies over glasses of champagne, reminiscing about good times spent together during our last year at school and sharing equally embarrassing stories from our time at university. It was the first New Year’s I’ve spent away from home and the traditional family celebrations of much singing, eating and Wii-playing but watching Big Ben strike midnight in glorious HD surrounded by some of my closest friends was an equally special and enjoyable start to the new year. Our goal was not to get smashed or wasted, we wanted to remember the start of 2012 and make this year a year to remember rather than a night to forget! We watched the fireworks and sang Auld Lang’s Syne under guidance from Jake Humphrey with stomachs full of hand-made sushi, a wonderful home-made gingerbread house and several glasses of champagne. In comparison to other nights it was a quiet one, but I wouldn’t have changed it for the world. Bring on 2012!
Cara Battle
The House Party
I’ve had a romantic view of the New Year ever since I was fifteen, when I was finally released from the clutches of my parents into a booze-ridden teenage party. Idealising New Years is not healthy; it has raised my expectations to such a height that I’m almost always disappointed when the real deal comes around. I’m not being picky. I only ask that by midnight I share a kiss with a devilishly handsome man with a nice personality to match, to get tipsy without those alarming memory losses, and to party. Hard. The reality of my New Years for 2012 was somewhat different.
Traditionally (well, ever since two years ago,) I have visited my brother in Newport, Wales to ring in the New Year. My final day of 2011 commenced with driving the two or so hours in dark, wet conditions whilst listening to Beyonce on repeat, and to my brother steadily downing cup after cup of cider. Having somehow arrived in Wales and following the lengthy affair of applying red lipstick without looking like The Joker, we started the process conventionally known as the ‘Pre lash.’ That’s probably where I went wrong in all fairness. I know I’m an embarrassing drunk; it’s an accepted fact for all who know me, and so arriving at the house party full of people I didn’t really know couldn’t have led to a good first impression. It didn’t. By 11pm people were handing me cups of ‘Vimto’ to drink, and slices of bread to ‘soak up the rum,’ (of which I found slices discarded in unlikely places around the house the day after, the bath for example.) However by midnight I was okay. And yes, I did get my kiss. The catch? Unfortunately he was gay. Bummer.
The next few hours were taken up with clubbing, dancing, and trying and failing to send New Years texts to my friends. I got home in the early hours of 2012, exhausted, hungry, and feeling rougher than sandpaper. Still, despite my embarrassing antics, the lipstick which was inevitably all over my face come morning, and my avoidance of the midnight kisser; 2012 started bloody brilliant.
Vickie Morrish
