Auld Lyne SIGH: Part Two or The faux pas of the socially inept. January 2, 2008

The great thing about hating New Year’s Eve means that I’ll never be disappointed: at the very worst the evening can only reach my lowest of expectations; everything else is a bonus.

My new year’s eve in Dunfanaghy, in the beautiful wilderness that is Donegal almost defies description; but during each startling moment I was trying to capture how I would describe it when I put ‘finger to keyboard’.

As a little background, the Dunfanaghy party, is something of a legend of its own making; and is an invitation, my friend Linda makes on an annual basis. I always refuse: I’m not great with large groups of people I don’t know very well; especially when they’re all well-known to each other. I’ve met many of Linda’s friends on different social occasions in the myriad of possibilities that is her wide and varied social circle (it was decided that Linda is in fact the societal glue for many groups in Northern Ireland: lots of people meet and get to know each other because they know her; Lily Todd performs a very similar function- maybe I should get them together once more and then my fear of the unknown party people can disappear entirely.) But I’m not part of the ‘we grew up together group’, nor the ‘we went to school together group’ nor the ‘we play hockey together group’: and this means I’m a blow-in; often someone others vaguely remember but can’t quite place.

Social Faux Pas#1: So the first possible disaster presented itself on the Sunday night; it seemed my driving abilities, such as they are were being called upon. The problem being, I need directions to find my way out of a paper bag; and that the car I’m driving does not belong to me, nor have I been driving it long enough to take a full-load of passengers so long a distance. But Linda (entirely au fait with my catalogue of driving disasters)intervened and through her extensive network enabled a situation that allowed me to drive to the Four Winds, then Hillsborough and then to get a lift: glory be…

Except this meant three hours of in-car conversation without Linda there to grease my wheels. I struggle in car conversations; the driver has to quite obviously focus her attention on the road, making lip-reading impossible, the noise of the engine, the heaters and often the car radio mean that conversation gets drowned out almost entirely. I sometimes think that I should wear a badge saying ‘I’m not rude- I just can’t hear’, or simply tell people. My car companions on this particular journey thought I may have been stoned as I often neglected to fully participate in the conversation even when directly asked a question.

Social Faux pas #2: One of the difficulties of beng single is that drunken occasions and friends of friend often coincide. This means that there are a random collection of sometimes dark haired, often very cute and always very charming men who I have kissed or had dalliances with in each of my friendship groups. My last dalliance was with a friend of Linda’s; this guy is charm personified: Armagh’s answer to Cassanova. We were what could be classed as ‘last chance’ kissing partners some time ago: that Saturday night thing where neither of you have pulled, you’re now back at the ‘after-pub’ party and the night is about to over; so you kiss one of the other single people in the room. I think I enjoyed the situation much more than he did; although he’s much too practised to make this a clarified point.

In this particular example the night was so far over that I was in my pjs, had taken off my makeup and came back from brushing my teeth to find Cassanova in my sleeping bag yet I digress.

While making a pit-stop in Letterkenny we encountered Linda, Cassanova and his very witty sidekick. Cassanova was standing behind me, with his case of Budweiser; cue the flirty hello, the ‘thanks for the memories’ banter and the beginning,  if not,  of encounter two at least the possibility of natural conversation. Instead I blushed, mumbled hello and looked at the floor. In fact, this particular Cassanova had made his smooth moves on many of the girls in this particular company but they seemed to have graduated to the witty banter stage without mishap. My missed moment meant that we spent the night avoiding each other. We did endure a painfully stilted ‘How are you?’ ‘Fine.’ ‘How was your Christmas?’ ‘Quiet’ conversation that we both longed to escape.

I watched him later that night (we carefully avoided even the ‘peck on the cheek’ at midnight) stalk and capture his prey: I should get in contact with David Attenborough- it made truly fascinating material.

Social faux pas #3: When we arrived at the house I realised immediately that I was, socially speaking, about to drown. This was a breathtaking house; the sort of place you paid 100k for the view alone. There was a fully-stocked bar (and I mean actual bar with optics, mixers, wine, beer and cider or every possible persuasion) and fridge from which you were entirely expected to help yourself. My little apartment and salary were becoming more insignificant by the minute; I was mixing with the great and the good and doing it badly.

We decided at 4pm to hit the pub: cue panic once more. LONG gone are the whole days I can spend drinking; at least not without the following one being spent dashing from bed to bathroom: demanding both a religious conversion and the last rites. While the others drank perhaps seven rounds I sipped my seemingly endless two pints of cider and made stilted conversation. I had secretly pledged to myself that I wouldn’t be the drunk girl who no knew, who fell on the floor at the party; but instead I was ‘Linda’s quiet friend who needed to let her hair down’. Not convinced I made the right decision.

Social faux pas #4: And so back to the beach-side ‘mansion’ and to getting ready. Linda helpfully got me a g&t, but one of the others was entirely appalled that I was ‘beneath’ helping myself…

A group of girls in one bedroom getting ready is always fun. These are girls that play hockey together and so not only look fabulous but are used to being in various states of undress in front of each other. Having not yet been a convert to ‘How to look good naked’; I struggled to get dressed under my towel; regretting bringing my ‘little red pinafore dress’; as the others slipped into their oh-so-skinny. skinny jeans and very sexy tops; but did manage to take place in the sharing of sparkling make-up which made us look and feel very festive.

But the sparkling eyeshadow wasn’t enough to rally my spirits when one of the ‘wonderfully eccentric’ guests asked me what the other elves where doing tonight and wasn’t new year a little too late for my ‘Santa’s little helper’ outfit? If there was a witty and equally cutting response it evades me still.

Social faux pas # 5: After more social introductions (a little aside: somebody somewhere has taken this particular group of boys and taught them how to kiss women on the cheek; they did with charm and grace and affection: somehow able to both give and receive: perhaps this is something David Attenborough could include in his ‘Mating Rites’ documentary that only I would watch: an additional note for Mr. A. the same group were also taught how to fetch g&ts for shy girls at parties- this may be a useful insert) a barbecue, lots of Bollinger champagne and an incredibly strange but somehow entertaining rendition of Shayne Ward’s ‘That’s My Goal’; we once again hit Molly’s Bar.

Its a great place: there was an outdoor fire, a live band and it was both Irish/ quaint enough for well-pulled Guinness, and a turf fire but civilised enough to have lemon for my g&t: a little luxury in itself. So this was the moment that I was glad I’d made the effort; no grossly over priced ticket, no unmanageable queue at the bar, no need for a taxi: a new year’s eve without complications…or so it seemed.

I somehow in a bid to rescue a new-found friend from unwanted advances spent an torturing amount of time with a guy who also criticised my sense of style; and then filled in all available conversation space by indulging in descriptions of Jimmy Choo footwear for women: I love shoes as much as the next girl but discussing what seemed to be a fetish with a man I hardly know was taking the ’shoe love’ a little too far.. Throwing myself on the furnace was looking more and more tempting.

Social faux pas # 6: And so back to ‘where the real party’ is. The real party seemed to be ALL who were in the pub and more; we (my new found friend and myself: she once again on the escape from an unwanted suitor) beat a hasty retreat: only to be greeted by a beligerent group demanding our host. I was told ‘I don’t fancy you but I’d shag you if you wanted me too’, by a boy young enough to be in my form class. How can any girl refuse such an offer? I smiled sweetly, resisted the attempt to give him extra homework and poured (myself this time) another drink. Again a wittier response was needed- or at the very least, a firm talking to.

My role for the evening rapidly emerged: I was the girl who entertained/ amused/ kept other girl’s ‘potential clinches’ company while they mingled or made bar trips. This was good practice for me: I got to see how the experts did it; and got to have often entertaining conversations with boys/men who were already accounted for and therefore their was no need for the deciphering of signals or such like.  The evening was punctuated  by platters of wild salmon and wheaten bread,  by wheels of brie and Stilton and by bowls of homemade chicken and vegetable soup prepared that very afternoon by a food processor bought for that very purpose. These people knew how to party in massive style.

This was like a party I’d never been too, that nobody knew each other (in some cases not even the hosts) seemed to matter little; well to everyone but me.

Social faux pas # 7: My task complete and the couples coupled up; I made idle conversation with a charming boy whose lady had already vacated the thinning crowd: we made hasty judgements on the many now ‘coupled up’ pairs that surrounded us: perplexed by the work that dark lights and alcohol could manage By now it was after 5am and my energy and conversational skills were lagging very much behind; Linda appeared with the promise of a bed. My new partner in badinage was appalled that I was ‘leaving so early’.  He got into the bed I vacated many hours later: clearly his ability to party long outlasted mine.

Social faux pas # 8: Linda is one of those miracles of science who can drink ten times her own body weight yet look and feel like Miss World in the morning; she suggested the walk. That I was in my DKNY skirt and cute but terribly impractical boots dissuaded me not; I preferred heart failure to making morning after conversation with those who’d ’stayed over.’

 We took off at marathon pace. The mild weather and spectacular view were impaired only by my near-heart attack status: Linda embarrassingly stayed behind, walking at my snail’s pace, while the other two sprinted up the hillside, no doubt apalled by my entire lack of physical finese. It was like the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award all over again: admittedly without the crippling rucksack but also without the very sexy boy because of whom I signed up in the first place. We were rescued by ‘our driver’ who was anxious to hit the road.

And there ends the perhaps bewildering tale. And even after the afternoon spent writing this diatribe; the unparalleled generosity of our magnanimous hosts; the friendship Linda and so many represented, its still not clear in my own mind as to whether I enjoyed it or not. Maybe if my second encounter with Casanova had been less excruciating…maybe if I’d spent less time worrying about being drunk and more time getting that way…maybe if I’d spent less time ‘baby sitting’ other girl’s conquests and more pursuing my own… and maybe, just maybe if I hadn’t been over-analysing absolutely everything and taken the time to enjoy each moment it would have made for a better new year’s eve and a more engaging story…

…in fact one of the many people I encountered suggested that the only new year’s resolution worth making was ‘Carpe Diem’: the pursuit of living for the moment or simply deciding to do the things to make us happy was a gurantee to a year of personal success. He may just have had a point.