I’m not saying I dislike people. I quite like some folks in small doses.

But oh boy, nothing makes me want to yeet myself into the nearest bin more than being in a room with a large group having a party.

The reason is partly, of course, autism related, and partly just my introverted nature. Parties are just not my scene. Just like how Donald Trump’s scene is firmly not the library.

Luckily, I am so over the hill, decrepit and boring that house parties are no longer an issue for me. These days, having more than two people in my house is less a sign that I am being rarely sociable, and more a sign that something in the house needs repairing.

That being said, I am a sucker for nostalgia, and this week I’ve found myself thinking about the utterly appalling house parties we used to throw at uni. Less ‘Skins’ and more ‘Inbetweeners’. Here’s a few neurowavy thoughts about the average university house party circa 2012 (‘It’s been 84 years.’)

I cannot hear what you’re chatting on about

When the bass is thudding through the floor and up into your chest, it’s hard to concentrate on what Steve, your friend’s friend’s cousin, is telling you about his latest entrepreneurial venture ( I can’t think what it would have been 13 years ago, but now I reckon it’d be drop-shipping dog biscuits).

He’s trying to shout over the Nicki Minaj track about how his uncle has invested the dividends of his investment portfolio into this burgeoning start up, or as he puts it, ‘his spare change’.

But you didn’t get a word of that, all that is audible is Nicki asking if you can hear that boom-badoom-boom bass? Yes, Nicki, I can.

And even if you could hear the words coming out of that bore’s mouth, do you really want to?

What do you mean ‘we should set up a commune in Scotland’? I’ve just met you Liz

I’m a sober girlie (N.B. I believe ‘girlie’ to be a gender neutral term. As the meme says, I’m non-binary in the sense that I don’t respond to the word ‘girl’ unless it’s Shania Twain proclaiming ‘Let’s go girls’).

I’ve been an intermittent sober girlie since I was about 20. I won’t write about the periods where I was imbibing because I would never be able to straighten my toes again from all the cringing.

Being sober at a party where the booze is flowing is challenging at best and tedious at worst. I remember the feeling alcohol gives you, oiling the cogs in your sad, sad brain and making you feel like anything possible. So possible in fact that we should actually do it, remind me, we should talk about this properly sometime, we should start a business making candles that smell like cheese. The cringe is so real, with so many grand plans proposed, and undying love professed for friends you have just met. If it isn’t the big gestures, it’s the inane chat. Make it stop!

GCSE drama makes a return

The night starts off with everyone so hopeful of a fantastic time. It invariably ended with at least one Jeremy Kyle-level argument. If, like me, you would rather hide for the rest of your life in outer Siberia than draw attention to yourself in real life, you would typically find yourself as one of the peacemakers.

One of the arguers would assign themselves to you for the remainder of the evening, crying and snotting everywhere about how Jane stole their boyfriend. Only he wasn’t really their boyfriend, he was someone she had smiled at once during a discussion about Calvin Coolidge in a history seminar.

Why did these people gravitate towards the likes of me and you? Perhaps, although we are deathly allergic to drama, that good ol’ strong sense of justice reared its head once again and you just had to become involved.

The bathroom is your friend

No folks, we won’t be following Charlie XCX’s ‘365’ keys and lines suggestion at this party, this isn’t the Houses of Parliament1

The bathroom of any establishment anywhere is the introvert and autistic person’s fave place. It is usually lockable, usually fairly quiet, and a place where you can remove yourself from the hustle and bustle and decompress.

If you disappear to a bathroom at a house party, people think you are a drug taking legend. When in actual fact you’re trying to stave off a mild to moderate panic attack.

Before the #NotAllParties crowd come for me, obviously there are parties that I do enjoy.

They involve books, tea and being in bed by 10pm. Buzzing.

This week has been utterly rubbish with my cat being sick (he’s getting better now and is a certified brave boy). I tried to cheer myself up with writing something daft. I hope you enjoyed. If you did, consider subscribing to this newsletter, if you like. If you didn’t enjoy, soz.

Cheers,

Ren

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