How the Noughties Ended

Shiney disco balls

In the interest of greeting grand new experiences, dawning over unexpected horizons, I laugh in the face of concequence! Which just seems to respond to me with ROFL.

As a younger person, I was highly suspicious of the world. But over my lifetime so far, those deep set suspicions have given way to an unquestioning trust. Not unlike that of a wide-eyed, waggy-tailed dog. That's not to say I don't sometimes get hurt by trusting so unquestionably. But the results are never so damning as I might once have believed, and besides, wounds heal. Which is lucky because I started off my new year with a black eye!

How the noughties ended.
At the very last minute, after spending most of New Year's Eve in bed, stubbornly ignoring the worldwide compulsion to party like it's 1999, something inside implored me to do just that. I lurched blearily from my duck-downed throne, to break out the sequins, pour myself into skinny jeans and get happy with the slap. C'mon, it's our last night to be noughtie. If I am right in remembering how they began a decade ago, then kissing goodbye to them, simply must take place with equal panache.

Rewind...
On the evening that the Millenium Bug didn't make our aeroplanes fall out of the sky, I was 16 years old. It was the first time I had ever seen cocaine, let alone it disappearing up the noses of our host's parents! Magnums of champagne were poured down my neck, and everyewhere else, I tried out snogging two people at the same time; an Irish lesbian and a beardy, be-trench-coated goth. Both of whom later tried to molest me. I escaped to the relative safety of the basement to conceal myself with my then brand new, but still now, long sufferening best friend, via seeing an alien in the garden. Really, this decade desesrved to go out with a bang. As well it did.

Fast Forward...
Another house party, another city, another clique. I dialled Zurich to receive the address. This was at least to be a higher class of gatecrash. The Central London town house reposed over four floors of newly finished opulence. It was black, white and sharp all over, along with being totally dreamy.

In the basement we had a shiney, granite dancefloor complete with mesemerising lasers for the party effect and a kitchen made of all things bright and beautiful. The puffiest, most bottom-supping sofas were luring us onto the first floor. But we revellers found the walk-through, rain-style shower just all too fascinating on the top floor. Hanging out in the kitchen is so last decade, Ikea! We ended up partying our socks off in the master bedroom at the top of the millionaire's party pad. Lights off, gloves off, this is how to see in a new year in style. I don't know how many of us crammed into our host's private quarters, but there were at least eight, maybe even ten on the bed at any one time. What more can I say? Hats off to James the Australian guy for always being the friendly face beneath our arms, legs, knees, etc, etc. Unfortunately it was during this multi-national pile up that I sustained my black eye, from a stray elbow which approached from a specatcular height, at a fantastical speed. I was collateral damage, but at least my first ever shiner occured during my first ten in a bed session of the next ten years, and just as kiss-and-tells are becoming outlawed by the latest privacy legislation, so here's my revelation; the bed fell through. Ikea! Tutt tutt.

So there I was, bravely setting foot, leg and face amoungst all these new people. Falling through furniture with them and slipping through the fingers of the boys in attempts at ball room dancing, and I'm not speaking figuratively here. Evoking incredulity by patting a girl on the thigh in offering her a drink and shock at encouraging Kosovans to join in the bundle. I started to realise that some of these people were very different to me. In the Big Smoke, where image is everything.

I love new people. I love new people in new places. To me culture is all about people. We make it, we create it and to understand it you need to feel it. You need to get amoungst the people who live it. You just can't get cultured by buying the T-shirt. Experiencing culture feeds you and feeds from you. But anyhow, I didn't come here for culture. I came here on a whim, to party the year away. To finish up those last dregs of noughtiness and drag my sky high heels into the impending teens, over a stellar dancefloor. I could be any girl in any city. It didn't matter. To be free, be fresh, be young and be impressionable.

It shoud be liberating. That was the idea. To let go. To abandon antiquated and ritualistic principles, which bear no meaning to my current incarnation. However, I have discovered that purging too holistically can leave a void. This open mind suddenly feels very spacious, one could even say a little empty.

Anonymity is fun. It comes with it's own opportunities. To meet, to greet, to love and to leave. But it can also propogate a strange sort of attention. A fascination and a need to impart reems of advice. All with best interests at heart. But who's? And is anyone really sure at that kind of time in the morning? Bonds form because we like to look out for each other. But when you are on your own in a tribe of someone else's friends, who looks out for you? We are all a little tribalistic. We will put our own kind first. It is true that there arrives a point in any top rate party, when is is essential to seek comfort. What form it comes in, depends just how long you go on partying. It can be in the arms of a loved one, falling into bed. A pile of best buddies on the sofa, recounting the evenings madcap mishaps. A deep and meaningful with a new aquaintence punctured by the stressing of "Mee toooo!" Or even just a quiet moment listening to birdsong. Home is where the heart is and wherever I lay my bones I rest my heart. With this in mind I am never really lonely. Boldly going where you haven't gone before is a pleasure beyond compare. But so is the elixir of a familiar hug. My new friends were fascinating, strange, funny, cute and kind. But I did find myself feeling far away from my tried and tested Trusted. Although I think that always happens on NYE. Whether we mean to or not, it seems an appropriate time to reflect. Which in reality, it isn't. All those hightened emotions can get very muddled up over 24 hours of mood enhancing activities.

For me, the people who really count; my family and my friends, already love me far beyond what I could ask. With that I can boldly go wherever I may wish to go boldly. Which is what really matters when all is said and done. I am loved. I have cosiness on demand from these wonderful people, if only I ask for it. So for the time being I feel no urge to try to impress anybody else. All the new and fascinating people who are to come into my life now, can like me for just who I am, or not at all. And that's ok with me.