Going out on Christmas Eve is a joyless, sexless affair

You’re better off staying in and watching Elf


For years, your friends have been saying New Year’s Eve is overrated.

Whether it’s the price, the hassle or the crowds, they tell you it’s going to be a disappointment. But there’s a much stronger contender for the most overrated night in the calendar: it’s time to admit that the Christmas Eve night out is woefully shit.

Where did you spend last New Year’s Eve? You were probably chinning Lambrini at your friend’s colleague’s house party, or losing your shit and all control of your jaw in a sweaty warehouse rave. Even if you were down the pub, it was probably a hell of a lot more fun than you’d had there a week earlier.

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New Year’s Eve isn’t shit – it’s a debauched, drunken shagfest where you can party into the early hours of the morning without worrying about the consequences.

Christmas Eve, in contrast, is the night out equivalent of an unenthusiastic dry hump. It’s unfulfilling, it’s pointless, and nobody feels good about it afterwards.

You’ll spend half the night counting the drinks you’re having because you want to be able to talk to your nan tomorrow without throwing up on her cardigan. The other half you’ll spend drowning your sorrows, and who can blame you? Talking to ex-partners and estranged schoolmates is dry at the best of times, so it won’t be any better in novelty Christmas jumpers.

Regardless of the awkward encounters, you could still try and pull – right? Wrong. Even if you jump the gun and go for Lily from school with the three-year-old kid or Darren from your brother’s football team with the slightly lazy eye, any attempt at getting lucky is doomed. Not because your standards are too high, but because Christmas Eve is the one night of the year where both answers to “your place or mine” will have dreadful consequences.

Anyone you try and sneak out when the sun comes up will inevitably run into your mum while she’s prepping the sprouts, and if you’re happy waking up at someone else’s house on Christmas morning then you’re a cretin who doesn’t deserve any presents.

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Therein lies the problem – if you’re going out on Christmas Eve, you’re anchored to home. You don’t want to risk going too far afield because you know you need to wake up in your own bed in the morning, so you’ll be forced to play it safe and inevitably regret it.

You won’t be welcoming in the big day on a festive roof terrace decked out with jacuzzis and supermodels, nor will you be bopping along to some bangers at an exclusive secret venue. You’ll be down the local, stuck at the bar speaking to Gavin who still uses Brylcreem about his grad job in recruitment. Spoiler alert: he’s not enjoying it.

Face it. If you’re staying so close to home, you may as well curl up on the sofa with a cup of tea and watch Love Actually for the twelfth time this month. It’s cheaper, you’ll feel better in the morning, and you don’t get rollnecks like Colin Firth’s down the White Horse.

It’s a better idea, but you’ll still go out and vow never to do it again.

Well, at least till next December.