What I did for new year

By Iain Purdie, aged 36 and a little bit.

Despite really not being in the mood, I was convinced to go to a party in Paisley with Scott – one of the student teachers I worked with on a recent placement. Five pounds a ticket for the nearby pub, and back to his afterwards with about a dozen folk.

So I ended up in a bar called “kilty kilty” in Paisley at around 10pm having already guzzled half a litre of strawberry milkshake with vodka in it. Well, it was only just over four pounds in Asda. And it was pink. And smelled nice.

Let me make it clear to any younger readers that excess consumption of alcohol is neither big nor clever. It is, however, a tradition at new year in Scotland so I simply had no choice other than to go ahead with it.

Scott and his pals arrived from dinner shortly after and a pool was put together to fund the drinkies. Pints of 70/- gave way to shots of whisky (with a free half of beer – impressed), then some Italian lager and then the dreaded Jaegerbombs.

The DJ was a bit crap, to be honest. When you’re in a bar for less than 2 hours and you hear no fewer than three records played four times each you know the daft sod’s left half his CDs at home. Still, it was all background anyway and I enjoyed a nice natter with a lot of the guys.

Midnight, bizarrely, was counted down at three minutes to the hour. I checked my phone – time set over the mobile network – and watched the TV screens showing the live broadcasts on BBC. All confirmed – the muppet was counting from 10 seconds far too early!

Nobody seemed to notice, though. Any excuse for a knees-up. I had two random girls come up for a new year hug. One kept coming back. And back. And back. I think she was counting seven by the time we left. Her friend kept trying to snog me, but (and I hate to be nasty but I doubt she’ll read this) her mouth smelled like something had died in it. A long time ago. And was currently rotting.

I politely pecked her cheek instead.

Time to stagger over to Scott’s which we did via a not-crowded bar doing karaoke. Well, three of us anyway. One of the girls needed a pitstop and we enjoyed a brief bit of warmth before the final push to the flat in the nippy outdoors.

The party was a party. More beer, my first Newcastle Brown Ale of the year and some good chat that I can barely remember. People started to drift off around 4am and I was one of them, opting to walk back to Elderslie rather than pay the outrageous new year taxi fares.

This is where I realised that I was back in the UK. I stuck my thumb out along the main road as cars went past and nobody stopped. It was -8 degrees Celcius (thankfully my beer jacket was nice and snug), dark and I was by myself. I didn’t mind the walk but I just know for a fact that had I been in Australia, Vietnam or one of many European countries that some kind soul would have picked me up.

Not in Britain, though.

Instead I plodged along until I got quite close to my destination when I saw a window open and a light on. Music was playing and a couple were chilling in the kitchen. So I asked if I could have a cuppa. They readily invited me in and I spent another hour or so chatting to random strangers and being force-fed Apple Sourz and Bacardi Breezer. And tea.

It must have been around 6am when I left to walk the last quarter mile or so to my aunt’s.

Definitely not what I was expecting, and a good new year overall. Of course, thanks to Scott and his girlfriend for inviting me. And to everyone I talked to. And of course to the people in the downstairs flat who let me in! Maybe it’s just people in cars who are selfish.