Is it me, or is everyone really going for it this Christmas party season? Most people I meet at the school gates are nursing a hangover.
Even my mother, who has never been seen without her facemask in Waitrose post-lockdown, has decided to let loose – forgetting that she was wearing the facemask wrongly all this time and on her chin.
When I facetimed my parents last week, they informed me ‘it’s back to the pre-lockdown era’, as they were off to the sailing club 1940s themed shindig in full regalia. Was that permission that we can finally party? Had they accepted at last that lockdown is well and truly over? It has taken some people, of a cautious nature, a long time to acclimatise back to the norm.
Even though cases of Strep A are circulating with worrying levels, I feel as though we have all been spat out of the other side of lockdown. We were cooped up for too long.
The lockdown PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) is only coming to the fore now. In some ways, we have had a delayed reaction. Some people still insist on working from home, the new normal, whilst others don hazmat suits on the tube.
In all seriousness, months of being trapped at home baking banana bread, knitting, and watching endless boxsets on Netflix has culminated in a rip-roaring party season. Last Christmas, we just dipped our toes in the water to test the climate – was it safe to party? This Christmas, we are fully submerged. We have lived like characters from The Good Life for too long. Yes, we spent ages mulching around the compost heap, which was fun to a certain extent, but now people are ready to party. Partying is something we haven’t done in such a long time, and it feels good.
There is no doubt that we are facing round two of the ‘Winter of Discontent’. Ambulances are threatening to strike – so don’t overdo your partying, there will be no one to help you. Royal Mail are striking, and all our Christmas presents will be left at the sorting office – will we ever see those gifts again? It’s a great excuse for those too lazy to send anything – ‘hmmm, it must still be at the sorting office’, they say in a coy way. There will be no trains to get to any of the parties, you will have to walk in your heels if you are desperate or hitch a ride.
Those attempting to get away for Christmas, face queues at airports. It will affect ‘even the shining ones who dwell, safe in the Dorchester Hotel’ as Betjeman would put it.
What with the excessive heating bills and the depressing economic climate, what more to warm our souls than a burning hot vol-au-vent and a glass of warm champagne at a friend’s party. It’s the least we can do to treat ourselves in these times of fear and loathing.
The same chat ensues, ‘where are you for Christmas?’ you ask politely. You wince as they tell you about their month-long trip to the Caribbean. You wished you hadn’t asked, mainly because you were too busy chatting and missed the all-important cocktail sausage round, as the canapes sailed past your grimacing face at full speed and the host assumed you weren’t hungry.
No doubt, we are facing a freezing cold January where everyone will be on strike - the bin bags will line the streets remnant of 1978. This was the year that I was conceived. ‘It was actually quite a fun year’, my parents told me, ‘we all just got on with it with a kind of war time spirit’ – got on with what exactly? As Major Anya Amazova said, in The Spy Who Loved Me, ‘When necessary, shared bodily warmth…’
Like anything in life, is your glass half full or half empty? The answer is it depends on how generous the host is and how quickly you drink it - surely? So, let’s hold our chin(s) up high this year and really enjoy any party that we may hopefully get invited to. And if you haven’t got any parties, don’t worry- maybe raise a glass to your television screen, anything will do. Give me a P, give me an A, give me an R, give me a T, give me a Y (why)? Because we’ve just got to.
