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1993

Abstract

versations with people who are not my friends because actually we don’t have much in common, I generally end up in a huddle with people I know and like. Probably in the kitchen.But this year we have had no seasonal gatherings. No parties.Since lockdown was first introduced in mid-March, we have been mostly forbidden from partying. Before that? Well, nobody has parties in January and February.Then came the summer, when the rules partially relaxed. We were allowed to mix out of doors, still in small groups and with extra caution engendered by our own fears. We tentatively went to cafes and restaurants, sitting outside if possible and gingerly avoiding direct contact with anyone. We had one or two small gatherings, but nothing that approached a party.In the autumn, when cases started rising again, rules were re-imposed and the colder, darker weather discouraged outdoor mixing. In any case, I left the country, to spend three months in Kyiv. No parties here either and my limited circle of acquaintances restricted social activities anyway. Back at home, a second lockdown came and everyone battened down the hatches.Fear Of Missing Out. FOMO. That is a thing of our time. It is the reason we check our phones so often. Is there a message? A notification? Has somebody posted something that I should make a witty reply to?Or, even worse, is there a party going on somewhere that I have not been invited to?Well, this year that last one at least hasn’t been the case. There have been no parties and so I haven’t missed being invited.Phew!The funny thing is that once I worked out that nobody was having any kind of fun, I relaxed into it. Round about the middle of April, after we’d had lockdown in the UK for 3–4 weeks, I settled into a routine. All the socialising was online, work was online. The rules were particularly strict at

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the beginning — we were even discouraged from meeting ‘people from other households’ for a walk.But it was OK. We got used to the Zoom parties, the catch-ups, the work meetings where you see the other person’s kitchen, or their spare bedroom. It was fine, because everyone was in the same boat. I asked a few people about this and they agreed with me. It really was fine to be living a smaller life, having a rest from socialising.I now socialise entirely online, with a wide circle of friends. We have video calls in groups or one to one. The interactions are satisfying. We have learned to listen and talk in turn. We say everything we need to say. And it is quicker. We can go back to reading, watching films, cooking meals — or whatever else each of us were doing. If someone wants a drink, they can have one.We do a lot of smaller ‘catch ups’ too. The equivalent of dropping in for coffee. More likely using WhatsApp or Messenger than Zoom or Skype, but the result is the same. We have a good chat and then get on with whatever we were getting on with before.I find myself mostly relieved by this situation. I have realised that I used to go to parties, not really so much because I wanted to, but with a bizarre mixture of duty and wishful thinking. Maybe this time I will have an interesting conversation, enjoy myself. Maybe someone new will turn up that I will enjoy meeting. But usually I found I got stuck with someone profoundly irritating, or simply got bored and tired. Always sitting and standing around, drinking more than I really wanted to.There is much to be recommended in online socialising. But I wonder if it is easier to enjoy it knowing that everyone is in the same boat. There is not some fantastic party going on somewhere that I haven’t been able to get to. This is it. This is all there is.But one day it will be nice to go to a party again.</article></body>

2020 — The year there was nothing to miss out on

No parties for nearly a year

I don’t think I’ve been to a party since last New Year’s Eve.

It is a funny feeling.

Normally at this time of year there would be a season of conviviality, round to people’s houses for festive cheer, restaurant gatherings.

One of my friends, who lives just across the road, is a bit of a party afficionado. She conjures a party up for any excuse and we all dutifully turn up, see the same faces and have a good time. She makes delightful little canapes, all artistically presented. There are olives, nuts and various types of party food. Her partner makes mulled wine, as well as a non-alcoholic surrogate for those who prefer to stay sober. A seductive spicy aroma greets you as you enter their house. The stove will be lit. There will be beautiful handmade Christmas decorations. Low lights and a few tasteful candles.

I enjoy their parties. I love the food — tiny morsels of taste and calories — although I eat too much and then feel strangely starving later on. I drink more than I normally do. I have learned which of the ‘friends of friends’ are rather boring, which ones have political opinions I find offensive, and avoid them. I like one or two of the people that I only see at these parties and it is nice to catch up with them. After a few of rather shallow conversations with people who are not my friends because actually we don’t have much in common, I generally end up in a huddle with people I know and like. Probably in the kitchen.

But this year we have had no seasonal gatherings. No parties.

Since lockdown was first introduced in mid-March, we have been mostly forbidden from partying. Before that? Well, nobody has parties in January and February.

Then came the summer, when the rules partially relaxed. We were allowed to mix out of doors, still in small groups and with extra caution engendered by our own fears. We tentatively went to cafes and restaurants, sitting outside if possible and gingerly avoiding direct contact with anyone. We had one or two small gatherings, but nothing that approached a party.

In the autumn, when cases started rising again, rules were re-imposed and the colder, darker weather discouraged outdoor mixing. In any case, I left the country, to spend three months in Kyiv. No parties here either and my limited circle of acquaintances restricted social activities anyway. Back at home, a second lockdown came and everyone battened down the hatches.

Fear Of Missing Out. FOMO. That is a thing of our time. It is the reason we check our phones so often. Is there a message? A notification? Has somebody posted something that I should make a witty reply to?

Or, even worse, is there a party going on somewhere that I have not been invited to?

Well, this year that last one at least hasn’t been the case. There have been no parties and so I haven’t missed being invited.

Phew!

The funny thing is that once I worked out that nobody was having any kind of fun, I relaxed into it. Round about the middle of April, after we’d had lockdown in the UK for 3–4 weeks, I settled into a routine. All the socialising was online, work was online. The rules were particularly strict at the beginning — we were even discouraged from meeting ‘people from other households’ for a walk.

But it was OK. We got used to the Zoom parties, the catch-ups, the work meetings where you see the other person’s kitchen, or their spare bedroom. It was fine, because everyone was in the same boat. I asked a few people about this and they agreed with me. It really was fine to be living a smaller life, having a rest from socialising.

I now socialise entirely online, with a wide circle of friends. We have video calls in groups or one to one. The interactions are satisfying. We have learned to listen and talk in turn. We say everything we need to say. And it is quicker. We can go back to reading, watching films, cooking meals — or whatever else each of us were doing. If someone wants a drink, they can have one.

We do a lot of smaller ‘catch ups’ too. The equivalent of dropping in for coffee. More likely using WhatsApp or Messenger than Zoom or Skype, but the result is the same. We have a good chat and then get on with whatever we were getting on with before.

I find myself mostly relieved by this situation. I have realised that I used to go to parties, not really so much because I wanted to, but with a bizarre mixture of duty and wishful thinking. Maybe this time I will have an interesting conversation, enjoy myself. Maybe someone new will turn up that I will enjoy meeting. But usually I found I got stuck with someone profoundly irritating, or simply got bored and tired. Always sitting and standing around, drinking more than I really wanted to.

There is much to be recommended in online socialising. But I wonder if it is easier to enjoy it knowing that everyone is in the same boat. There is not some fantastic party going on somewhere that I haven’t been able to get to. This is it. This is all there is.

But one day it will be nice to go to a party again.