WE’RE FINALLY HERE and the countdown is on.

Yes, in just a few hours, we’ll be bidding farewell to 2018 and ringing in a new year.

Tenor Tenor

But if you’ve ever spent NYE crammed into the local, you’ll know that it usually doesn’t live up to the hype.

Needing to do a bit of speed shaving and even out the leftover Stephen’s Day tan that is still lurking around your ankles, the evening starts off with a lot of work to do.

Deciding to get started with a tipple, you pour yourself the first of many glasses of prosecco.

Then it’s on to hair and makeup which obviously becomes noticeably more difficult after that glass of prosecco.

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After taking way too long getting ready – surprise, surprise – you arrive late to pre-drinks with your friends and are forced to play catch-up. As per, the craic in the house drags on longer than you had all expected and the group is left scrambling to get down to the pub before 12.

With less than an hour to spare, you finally make it into the pub and it’s straight to the bar. On route you run into your first cousin, your old babysitter and some gals you used to go to school with, so naturally you need to get up to date on every moment of note in their lives since the last time you spoke. 

Before you know it the DJ is giving the five minute warning and stoking the building anxiety of every singleton in the pub about finding someone to shift at midnight.

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Having convinced yourself you weren’t arsed all week, now that countdown is looming that’s all changed.

Inevitably, you end up chatting to one of the girls and explaining the situation when, “10, 9, 8, 7…”.

And with that, the new year is here and it all gets a little hazy from there.

The group has disbanded and it’s every man for themselves.

Fast forward a few hours and you’re tearing into a kebab and having DMCs with some random you met in the toilets of the local club.

And then it’s time for the NYE equivalent of The Hunger Games as you fight it out with everyone for a seat in one of the far too few taxis available in your home town.

Tenor Tenor

Just two hours later and you’re finally home. Already stressing about tomorrow’s struggle, you neck a pint of water and finish the remnants of that questionable kebab you bought earlier.

You wake up at 2pm on January 1 with a banging headache and a strategically placed bucket next to your bed. Scrolling through the messages in the group chat, it’s clear that the whole gang are feeling the fear this morning.

You ask yourself what it would have been like if you all never left the pre-drinking venue at the start of the night – but you know deep down that that would have brought with it its own disasters and ultimately would have resulted with the same struggle to get home at the end of the night.

Having learned this lesson one too many times, last year, I decided to stay in with whatever family members weren’t arsed with the madness.

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We had no plans other than to order some Chinese, make sure the drinks cabinet was well-stocked and to decide what we’d watch to ring in the new year.

Spending the night in the fleeced pyjamas Santa had brought, I relaxed on the sofa, in front of the fire and watched the fireworks display from the comfort of my own home.

Yes, there was a little FOMO when I flicked through Instagram Stories but as I helped myself to mince pie number four, I knew I had made the right decision.

Waking up with a clear head was just more proof that I had finally sussed the best way to spend New Year’s Eve, a plan I intend on sticking to this year and for the foreseeable future.

But, each to their own.