Harnessing the power of hindsight – the perception of the significance and nature of events after they have occurred – is, considered to be one of the key pillars to a successful life. I’m struggling with it to be honest. Lessons that should have been learnt weren’t. Attitudes that should most definitely have changed haven’t. This lack of comprehension was brought harshly to light on the 31st December 2009…

31st December 2009
4:00pm

OK so work’s wrapped up, I’m on my way back to Islington and my housemates have got the Buds on ice to celebrate our first New Year in London. A cheeky heel click is in order before boarding the Piccadilly line at Leicester Square…

4:30pm

I bounce through the door and before the man bag has stopped swinging on it’s hook a delightfully cold Budweiser is thrust into my hand. King of beers indeed. Ching ching and here’s to a glorious New Year! After a hard (ok not that hard…) days graft that first swig was dangerously good…

4:45pm

Guests are set to arrive at 7:00pm for an impromptu gathering before rendezvousing down in Angel but what the puck let’s get this show on the road! Break out the Guess Who and let’s get this drinking train a rolling. The rules are simple – questions are asked regarding the behaviourisms and life choices of the various characters rather than their physical attributes. For example, ‘Does he or she look like a rapist?’. Based upon the answer given by your opponent you have to eliminate some faces. A stupid game and one I proved poor at. Before I know it four bottles of beer are racked up beside me and I’m getting that pleasant warm buzz that promotes the attitude that all ideas are great ideas. The forbidden fruits had been tasted…

5:30pm

“Ring of fire?! I was going to suggest some kind of sponge like food to cope with the alcohol but your idea is so much better! Break out the cards!”. The cards are fanned out quicker than you can say ‘Sir Jack’ and the game commences. And did I mention there’s just three of us in this particular circle? On a night in which my self destruction was surely fated, three shots were quickly consumed (Morgan’s Spiced Rum – delightful), washed down with another 4 beers.

Ring of Fire

Ring of Fire

I should probably take a breather right now yes? Don’t be a pussy…

7:00pm

Yay! Our esteemed guests have arrived! And, pray tell who is this tasty little scrumpet? Why it’s my housemates sister and I tell you, beer goggles aside, she is FINE. “Is this seat taken?” she asks me “Not anymore” I reply whilst ensuring the guns are on show. “Drink?” she asks. “Absolutely” I exclaim sensing some common ground. Quicker than you can say David Blaine a bottle of Smirnoff Vodka and Lime appears in her hand. “When I take a shot you take a shot” not a question – that was an order. “Whatever you say” I reply. This’ll be over quickly – she looks far too clean cut to be much of a drinker. Couple of shots at most…

8:00pm

My last concious thought of the evening? The despair of losing a drinking game to an attractive petite blonde girl? The prospect of waking up tomorrow feeling like a bag of crap? Or was it how hindsight has betrayed me once more? I don’t really know – all I can tell you is that just after 8:00pm on December the 31st 2009, my New Year ended.

January 1st 2010
3:30am

Where the fuck am I? Why does everything hurt? Why am I still fully dressed? Choking back on a chunk of vomit (why does it have chunks?!) someone begins to rustle beside me – it appears I’ve been playing the role of the little spoon. For a split second I contemplate the thought that it’s my housemates sister, but then the big spoon begins to talk. “I want you so bad” he says. Wait something’s wrong here…HOLY SHIT I’m being spooned by a GUY?! And what did he just say??! My body forgets it’s broken long enough for me to combat roll out of bed wrapped in my duvet “Get the FUCK out of my room!” I scream “Dick – I wasn’t going to do anything!” he says on his way out.

Big Spoon, Little Spoon

Big Spoon, Little Spoon

With a sense of lynchian surreality I crawl back into my bed still too drunk to really process what just happened and mercifully fall back to sleep…

10:00am

I awake to discover myself in an agony I never thought possible. My bedroom wall and the neighbouring toilet is covered in an orange spray that smells suspiciously of shame and hindsight. My blood is a toxic poison, my bones are full of needles and my head has the density of lead – Crappy New Year.

And then I remember I was almost sexually abused by a man. Fanfuckingtastic. Speaking of which where did he go?

The morning that follows is a nightmarish combination of vomit and paralysis baked in a pit of my own self loathing. In 8 seasons of 24, CTU agent Jack Bauer has never felt this shit. Even when he was officially dead for 20 seconds. I stagger around like one of Romero’s zombie horde scavenging for vitamins and sugars that will bring me back to the living. My own mother wouldn’t recognise the hollowed and haunted monstrosity that has replaced me.

But just as my exhausted mind and body were about to give up a new metaphorical dawn rose as (touch wood) it always does. I’ve found the hangover food to bring me back to life (copious amounts of satsumas) and the New Year roast is in the oven. Tom Hanks performing Chopsticks in everyone’s third favourite film from the 80’s aids my recovery further.

The eve of 2010 is already feeling like a bad dream – and they’re never as horrible in the comforting light of day are they?

Now did someone say there was some spiced rum left…

“We never change, do we? No, no
We never learn, do we?”

Coldplay, We Never Change