The party’s over, thank god!
When a friend forlornly remarked what a shame it is that we no longer go out much, the honesty of my reply surprised us both. The truth is, I couldn’t be happier with the fact! Going out into town once, sometimes twice per week was hell. It’s only now, with age on my side, I have the confidence to turn down the offers. It’s not that I don’t like socialising with friends. OK, maybe sometimes. But I certainly don’t hate it. I’ve had some of the best moments with my long-term mates. Though, these good times rarely occur in noisy, twat-filled pubs. Normally friends say it’s old age, young children, or a hectic work life that spoiled things for them. Not for me. I never enjoyed it. But it felt back then like I didn’t have a choice. It was what teens and twentysomethings did each weekend. What kind of social pariah would I have become (more than I am already)? Not only did I loathe the multiverse of chatter and pissed-up, pint-wielding patrons, I hated the nauseating lighting, the i...