For the first time since I was a teenager, I’m missing the annual Christmas night out in my hometown. I’m devastated.
Usually, my friends and I (the same ones I’ve had since secondary school) pile into the local pub on Christmas Eve, and end up at the only ‘club’ in Hitchin, Hertfordshire.
In years gone by, I’ve ended up chatting to people who barely acknowledged me when we were at school, hit with the usual: ‘You’re actually really cool. Why weren’t we ever friends?’
I’ve witnessed my ex-classmates, all now approaching their 30s, having cheeky snogs in the corner. And a friend once got barred from our local for trying to sneak in via the smoking area (note: they weren’t charging a fee for entry, and it’s notoriously rubbish.)
There’s nothing like a bit of Christmas spirit to bring the gang back together, because, let’s be honest, everyone comes out of the woodwork for a night out back home.
To put things into perspective, this year, one person in my friendship group got married, and another had a baby, and I’m fairly certain at least one of them is still making it back to our beloved H Town for some festive bevs with their OG pals, despite having moved to Germany to be with his wife.
Even the ones who never came on the original nights out back in the day will be there for the big day. The designated social secretary of our group will always invite absolutely everyone, even if they were a minor character in our lives when we were doing our A Levels.
Chris from Maths? Sure. The guy you used to sit next to in Geography? Yeah, stick him on the list. The girl you haven’t seen since results day, when you caught her sobbing in the corridor? A Christmas pint is absolutely in order for her — not that you can remember her name.
But this year, I won’t be attending. My mum has now moved away after 19 years. It’s too far to venture on the night before Christmas, which leaves me firmly off the guestlist.
I didn’t expect it to hit me this hard. I won’t be walking into that sticky-floored club, the one I’ve been frequenting since school, that reeks as much of nostalgia as it does spilled Jager Bombs.
I visited my mum last weekend for early Christmas celebrations, and was met with the feeling that it didn’t quite feel the same as it did before.
I’m not alone. For the past week, since people have started to flit back home to spend time with their families over Christmas, social media has been plastered with chit-chat about the annual hometown ‘night out.’
Posting on TikTok, @mol_sutty said she was ‘preparing for the biggest night of the year (the annual night out in my hometown,’ adding that she was absolutely ‘buzzing.’
For @fliccccy, things went slightly leftfield, as she ‘survived the Christmas night out’ at home, ‘saw everyone I’ve ever known, and threw up for an hour.’ Merry Christmas.
@livforthejourney said: ‘What is it with there being an unspoken rule of going to your hometown pub on Christmas Eve to see every person you have ever been to school with and everyone hates each other, but we all keep going every year anyway.’
When the clock strikes midnight and our calendars switch to December 25, my experience won’t consist of chatting to a random I haven’t seen since 2015.
Instead, I’ll be at Midnight Mass, but my heart will be in the smoking area of a very bad club in Hitchin.
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