FIND TWO SYMPATHETIC-TO-YOUR-PLIGHT COLLEAGUES IN A CORNER AND SAY 'THIS IS SHIT, ISN'T IT?'

Here’s your move: you say, "This is shit, isn’t it?" then take a pull from a bottle of Carlsberg (it has to be a bottle, a pint does not have the same impact) and then you look around the room, a motion which presumably gestures the people around you as being "this", and them – their quality, and the vibe they are bringing – as "shit". This is a good move, you think. You’ve always made friends like this, haven’t you. Revelling in the darkness. This got you through school then college. Got you beyond the "normies" at university. That’s your brand, isn’t it, cynicism, and though it’s never made you happy it’s at least made you friends who also do not make you happy. Anyway: “This is shit, isn’t it?” you say, gesturing at all these people, a few inches more unwound than you, moving free and gracefully, quietly having fun. You’re annoyed the party has not instantly broken out into a bacchanalian free-for-all and that, ten minutes and one round in, someone is yet to offer you gratis ketamine.

"I hate all these lot," you say, as someone smiles in a Christmas jumper. “God, they’re all just so— shit, this, isn’t it?” And the people you are conspiring with turn to you and say: well I don’t really see you exactly contributing to the vibe, mate. They say: actually I would argue that you standing in the corner being visibly cynical is detracting from it entirely. Oh god, they’re still going: you do this at work every day, don’t you, and it’s not coolly detached ironic hatred, we all recognise that. No but I— you keep getting mad you’re not progressing at work or making any friends here, but then you come to the Christmas party – a fun, festive shindig designed to get you pissed for free – and bring the arsehole attitude!

This has backfired, massively. You’re doing that thing where you sweat so hard you go hot and cold at the same time. You say, "Yeah mate, cheers," go to the bathroom, sit on a toilet with your head between your knees for ten minutes, force yourself to throw up, dash cold water on your face, then run out to the bar and order three shots. You’re going to have fucking fun here, you cynical little prick. This is the one fucking day of the year you're going to have fun.