Don’t want to have a rubbish New Year’s Eve? Have a big night in

The culturally resonant image of New Year’s Eve is of massed throngs outside the London Eye, counting ecstatically down to the moment the calendar resets, and we resume our weary trudge through January and beyond. The main attraction is a washed-up pop star who’s enjoyed a little too much adult fizzy pop prior to their performance. It’s all very nice -lots of people having travelled from afar to gather together and sing Auld Lang Syne. What better way to spend New Year’s Eve than heading out to a big event, being a happy part of a joyous hole? The crowd always looks so happy on BBC One, when you regain consciousness for long enough to focus your eyes.

Without being presumptuous, hyperbolic, or any other four-syllable word, I can assure you that every single member of that crowd is miserable. It’s the 31^st December. It’s cold, likely raining. They have queued for hours for the privilege of being penned in with a group of complete strangers, with barely enough room to swig from their hipflasks. The big payoff -the New Year’s fireworks – lasts a few minutes, then they are left with the tall order of finding their way home on public transport after midnight in central London – or worse still, trying to find a cab. This is not my, or many people’s, idea of fun.

The same goes for people who go clubbing on New Year’s Eve. If you’ve purchased any kind of event ticket for a passing of time functionally identical to the 364 others that have preceded it, you are making too much effort. Clubbing is a pain at the best of times, but it reaches peak insufferability when the hordes of drunken revellers attempt to kiss you at midnight, howling Auld Lang Syne piteously into the uncaring night. The same public transport issues abound, and taxi companies rob you blind. I once paid sixty (sixty!) pounds to be transported twenty minutes back to my house. Then my girlfriend threw up on my shoes. Don’t ask.

New Year’s Eve is regularly a crashing bore, leaving you with nothing but a hangover, an empty wallet, and a vague sense of disappointment as you face the coming annum. But it doesn’t have to be

I don’t want to play the role of New Year’s Grinch. It can be an excellent excuse to get together with old friends, drink, reminisce, and drink. But if you ask me (you haven’t, but here we are), this is best achieved in as casual and effort-free a setting as possible. A small party of no more than ten, a warm living room, and a plentiful supply of aqua vitae makes the finest NYE experience you could ask for. Stay in your local area -if you’ve travelled for more than half an hour you’re making too much of an effort. If you’ve been invited by a far-flung friend or relative, meet them halfway instead. Avoid public events and gatherings of any form. Don’t watch the New Year’s fireworks, watch Jools Holland’s Hootenanny instead. You’re far less likely to recognise any of the artists, and hence less likely to have your conversation distracted by shouts of “ooh, isn’t that Louis Thomlinson?”.

Ultimately, New Year’s Eve is regularly a crashing bore, leaving you with nothing but a hangover, an empty wallet, and a vague sense of disappointment as you face the coming annum. But it doesn’t have to be. Call up that friend who’s always a laugh, and the one who never fails to pay for his round. Find some films or albums you actually like. Buy eight cans of Stella for £10, not two pints for the same price. Once you’ve had a quiet New Years Eve-ning in, you’ll never want to stand in a nightclub queue again, and maybe, just maybe, you can go into 2018 with a smile on your face, not a resigned grimace.