All is Quiet on New Year's Day

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The annual New Year's Eve party. Some entirely subjective highlights:

Craig

Imagine being invited to a party with lots of people, only two of who admit to liking pickled onions. You've got nothing else in common, but everyone assumes you two will click immediately - probably finding a spare bedroom later to have sex in, which everyone can snicker about. So they try to matchmake you.

That's me and Craig. Metaphorically - I'm not that into pickled onions. I'm nearly thirty nine, overweight, socially awkward, straight acting and into deep questions. He's about nineteen, tall and thin, if anything overgregarious, into dancing...and camp as a row of tits.

So we got introduced - as "that guy's gay too!" - exchanged thumbs up signals, and went back to our previous conversations. So much for forced compatibility.

But an hour or two later, there he was, face down in a spreading pool of his own vomit, semiconcsious and very, very drunk. I rolled him over onto his side so he wouldn't do a Jimi Hendrix and choke on his sick, then sat down and propped him up, with head supported over a bucket which a girl helpfully found.

And so it was, that I did spend half an hour tenderly holding young Craig in a bedroom, as he slept. And there was indeed a bit of snickering about it.

Then we moved him into a corner, found a pillow and blanket, and let him sleep it off. He was cold and sweating but not shivering, so I checked his pulse - it was slow and weak but the breathing was strong.

Hours later he came back downstairs, ravenous for pizza.

The Gatecrashers

Round about midnight, half a dozen or so young men marched in through the front door. No one knew who they were, and after a few minutes, they got shepherded out.

Then a second group appeared outside, wanting to come in - I went to talk to them. There were four or five of them, the leaders being two women in little black dresses. One of them pulled up her dress and leered at me - her version of bribery.

I explained, "The party's over, there's no food left, there's no alcohol left, you weren't invited. Please leave now". They still wanted to come in - they were of course, rather drunk.

After I said it the third time, they tried to charge their way in, and I reached out to block their way. So the two girls started screaming and punching me - with only slightly more force than a strand of wet spaghetti.

Others got rid of the nuisances, who smashed a window and a nearby car's windscreen before stealing someone else's taxi ride. Eventually the police arrived and weren't interested.

The Debate

I've been a socialist for ten years, a member of a trotskyist group (the SWP). Paul's been a socialist for at least as long, a member of a different trotskyist group (Millitant).

So, as with Craig "the only (other) gay socialist in the village", we were introduced and a debate set up. Here's a transcript:

Paul: If you're a socialist you should always support the Labour party.
Kap: Why?
Paul: Labour is the traditional home of the working class.
Kap: Traditions change.
Paul: Wait! Stop right there! Not so fast! Woah! No! listen! No, listen to me! Woaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
Kap: ....
Paul: Labour is the traditional home of the working class.
Kap: Maybe it was once, but since Blair it's been essentially a tory party.
Paul: You're being ultraleft! Typical SWP! You're a prick!
Kap: If you want to know whether the Labour party's progressive, you look at its current policies, not its old ones.
Paul: Eight million working class people voted Labour at the last election! And the SWP's only got two thousand members! You're an ultraleftist! Prick!
Kap: Probably about four thousand members, and the fact that people vote for a party doesn't mean it represents all the interests of their class.
Paul: You're being a total prick! You're a prick! Prick!
Kap: I'm asking you why Labour should have unconditional loyalty, no matter what it does.
Paul: I'm not going to talk to you any more! Prick!

Paul started chatting up some girls - who later described him as "that very weird man with the manicure". And I had a long and very interesting conversation with a highly intelligent young fellow about religion, ethics and philosophy. The political left in Britain may be a joke, but I think it's great that kids are getting lessons in ethical conundrums and deep questions at school now.

Hours later, Paul reappeared and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, saying "Good morning, darling". Adding "I'm the biggest faggot in the world. Have we got time for a blowjob?"

Perhaps fortunately, we didn't. But evidently someone had told him something that made him decide to like me.

And so, barring a long walk home and sleeping through most of New Year's Day, those are my final memories of 2010. This is one time I don't think it's a good idea to start as you mean to go on.

Here's to a better 2011.

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