New Years Eve…another favourite of Nemo’s….NOT!!  This year I decided, like the last 5 years, to barricade myself in my apartment with all the chairs, the table and if I could disconnect the washing machine, that too, then open a really nice bottle of Bordeaux Superiere that I’d won at an accountants’ lunch that I attended on behalf of The Tank (believe me, a case of wine was the least they could offer me to endure 4 hours with not only accountants but tankers too – like what the f…),  order a take away, take down the barricading, pay for take away, reassemble the barricading, eat dinner, drink the wine, get slowly tipsy and fall into my bed around 11.30, waking the next day to 2013. 

This was my tried and tested formula for avoiding the NYE bullshit and it had served me well for 5 years, I politely declined the many “well if you’re doing nothing come and join me and Jim/Ken/Shane/Paul, we’re just sitting in too” invitations, I had my mind made up and if truth be known was quite looking forward to the full bottle of yum red all to myself. I was going to give up the booze for 31 days on New Year’s Day.

Anyway, I headed to The Tank for the day, avoided questions of “what you doing for NYE?” and agreed to meet with of my tanker friends for a drink before she headed off to dinner with “he who shall not be named” (her new felleh) and his mates.  At 8pm we headed to the local and shared stories of parents on Prozac for Christmas, sniping siblings, failing Skype, Downton Abbey and lovely Christmases all the same. On drink 3, my tanker friend, we’ll call her Dora, got a call from “he who shall not be named” to see where she was and I could hear her utter the dreaded words “Yeah OK I’ll ask her”…I knew what was coming “Nemo, he said if you want to come along? Nemo please come along, I know no one except yer man (he who shall not be named) and he only knows about 8 other people, please come along”… No Dora, no, thanks but I am going to back to the apartment, erect my barricade and get quietly pissed alone (that does sound tragic)…OK I won’t put pressure on you but (cue tears) I’d really appreciate if you would come along (more tears)”…I’ve always been a sucker for tears … after much toing and froing it was “Fuck ya Dora, I’ll come, but I’m only doing this for you, now get on the phone and suss out if he was being polite or if it’ll be cool if I can come along.”  At this stage I’ve had three quart bottles of wine, a cheese sandwich, a bowl of soup and 2 slices of toast – all day!  I’m confident I can do this. I can go to dinner with Dora and “he who shall not be named” and 30 OTHER people I don’t know. I’m Nemo, I’ll pretend I’m acting in a really low budget film about New Year’s Eve and sure if I play my cards right I’ll get seated with one person to one side and one in front and when it comes to midnight I can pretend the chow mein is going through me and run to the toilets shouting “Bum vomit bum vomit. Happy New Year!”

So we arrived in, well we shall call it Brumbun, Ireland’s premium retail and leisure centre and I already thought “Fuck this was a mistake, I should have just gone home…” but I was there and I just had to go with it.  And it was actually very easy, fun, enjoyable and the wine was really, really tasty – and plentiful.  I got introduced to everyone, as did Dora, and I was glad to see she hadn’t lied to me, she did actually know about two other people apart from “he who shall not be named”. 

The night went as one might expect, a lot of topping up of wine, to mask the fact we probably had little to say to each other outside of the safety of a drunken state.  I was sitting beside a very nice, but exceedingly boring, gentleman who clearly had one great experience in his life – living in Oz – and he proceeded to tell me, in detail, about how great it was to wake up in the heat and run on the beach. Even fuelled with red wine, I managed to stop myself from saying “Yeah but you live in Ireland now”… And then there were the two guys who sat further up the table, who came down to see the specimen that was brought as Dora’s friend. I should start this by saying I really don’t remember a lot of this, but what I do remember is gasps of surprise when they found I came from the other side of the M50 and so became known as Nemo from <<fill in said midlands county name>>. Some of them had never heard of the county, seriously guys there are only 26 on the country, it’s not that difficult to be aware of the name, others didn’t understand the concept of “another county” and others just failed to realise that people really did live outside of the M50 circle.  There was one gentleman from outside Ireland (that they could understand!) - Scott the Scot. He was very friendly and even said he knew someone from the town I’m from.  I was grateful of his chattiness and friendliness as Dora and “he who shall not be named” had gone for a ciggie and while I bravely waved them on, I was glad even through my drunkenness, that someone came to talk to me. So Scott the Scot and I chatted and joked. When he’d been initially referred to it was as Scott-Denise. Now, in my drunken innocence I initially thought it was his name (I had about 6 red wines at this stage), but soon I discovered that Denise was his wife’s name…and sooner again it became very clear why he was known as Scott-Denise.  

Denise wrapped up in one neat little, narrow waisted package everything that is a stereotypical SoCoDu girl - pretty, brunette (surprisingly), slim, married at an appropriate age, spending NYE with “all her friends”, domineering, snooty, rude and a bitch. I can honestly say this because I witnessed her say “Who’s that wine for (um, us!)?  I didn’t order more wine. That’s €23 a bottle. (Turns to waiter) Cut the wine, no more, cut it”… Now you might think that in an environment where only one other person actually knew me, that I would keep this to myself…nooooo, I turned to our little, but very loud group at the end of the table, and relayed the story, many times!  I even suggested we get another bottle, or round up a few Euro each and throw it into the kitty for the “extra” wine. (Might I add while I was roaring this, that Scott of Scott-Denise was still sitting right beside me as I annihilated his wife!!)  Finally Denise roared €60 each down our end of the table and I’m assuming roared something similar like “€50 each” down the other end. I decided in my drunken bravery that I was gonna be the eejit who would walk up to her and give her the money. And so I stumbled up and staggered over and, as Denise put her hand out and continued talking to someone else, I started to count out the money as I slurred “This is for me Nemo, Dora and “he who shall not be named”… 20…40…90…110…130…180”  The absolute weapon never even looked at me as I counted it out and continued to talk to someone on the other side. Never before have I met someone as rude and arrogant as was she.  If she treats her husband with even a fraction of the attitude, arrogance, domineering and controlling ways she did the frigging bill for the night well then I can understand why they don’t have their own names but are collectively referred to as Scott-Denise!

I knew I’d had a good night when, the next day, I replied to Dora’s text and asked did she and “he who shall not be named” stay much longer…and I got a reply “We dropped you home Nemo” and that’s when the balloon fight and being warned by the taxi driver came back to me…in the words of ‘the young’ you know you’ve had a good night when you can’t really remember getting home!  New Year’s Eve this year was nice – it was fun, it was drunk and forgetting how I got home made me feel younger than I have in quite some time. Thanks Dora…and “he who shall not be named”