The anticlimax.

I probably hate New Years Eve as much as I hate Christmas. The onset of my anxiety this time of the year started shortly after I left Oz to come to London. I think it has largely to do with the huge pressure to organise something spectacular to end the year on. Discussions of 'what your plans are for New Years' boast resemblance to a spitting contest. How far can you go? Snog someone? Get laid? Vomit on the way home. Vomit before midnight? Snog someone, get laid, vomit before midnight and on the way home? My version of New Years was as exciting as watching grass grow. And as I did not have any plans even though I made an effort to ask around and hint my lack of plans to some 'friends' in hope that I would be included in theirs, I practically had to gatecrash a party of friends of friends just to feel that I wasn't going to miss out on a night of universal celebration that we have survived another year in our lives.

As my instincts predicted, I should've just stayed home. After the awkward dinner with my sister, forced conversation, sad attempt to find a place to view the fireworks (less than 5 minutes of which we caught thanks to two buildings we failed to see were in the way) and a short argument at 12.15am about where the tube station is, I somehow thought dragging my sorry self to a house party of people I didn't know would make my night any better.

It didn't. There are two types of groups of people one can encounter when invited to a party of a friend of a friend: the welcoming group: the type who make you feel like you're their life long best friend. And there's the unwelcoming group: the type who make you feel like you're some sort of contracted foot fungus they're trying to scratch off. Except one girl, who was so intoxicated she mistook me for another girl who was already at the party, who she thought she'd lost. She also claimed she lost her fingers. Then found them. She was nice.

I left. After an hour of trying to make conversation with people who insisted on giving me one line replies.

Though 2010 ended sourly, hopefully my trip to Barcelona will shed a positive light to 2011.

Stay tuned.