by Right, that New Year’s party. It’s over.
After being told that bow-ties weren’t required, I tried to wear stuff that was smart enough but me at the same time, in a vain effort to reduce my anxiety. As luck would have it, I only had a short walk to the party. On the way someone was cooking a pig on a spit. The venue was a substantial building that a year ago didn’t exist. There were forty or fifty of us there; I joined a table of nine – the tennis people and their friends. At the head of the table was Radu, a real matahală – a giant. There was a smorgasbord, a word which Joe Bennett said sounds like a pig in a trough, so we got our snouts in. The music wasn’t up to much – there were two rather pedestrian singers of around sixty and someone else on a keyboard. They did waltzes and other Romanian songs from two generations ago. Later they moved on to hits of the eighties, both Romanian and what you might call Europop. More to my liking, but when they sang in English (baybee! baybee!) it sounded faintly ridiculous to my ears. The musical experience would have been far better with just a CD or record player and some speakers.
There was a raffle in which everyone was guaranteed a prize. The top prize was a weekend for two in Brașov, the second prize was a weekend for two somewhere else, and although I’d have loved to visit these places (I still haven’t been to Brașov yet) I dearly hoped I wouldn’t win either of the two main prizes – the last tickets to be drawn – because I wouldn’t have had anyone to go with. It was a great relief to see my number drawn among the first ten and to win a kind of wicker basket. At 10pm we had ciorbă de perișoare – meatball soup, and then my brother rang me. I was able to get outside and take the call; I was grateful for the break. The evening progressed glacially – there was nothing to do except eat, drink, and talk. The clock ticked painfully slowly towards midnight. We went outside just before twelve to see the fireworks, and as 2022 became 2023 it was like a war zone out there. Unlike past years when I’ve been in the centre of town, this time I was in the backblocks and people were setting off bangers randomly in the streets.
At 12:30 the steak came out. Good steak, but I wasn’t in the mood for eating, and certainly not drinking, by this point. I often liken social events to air travel, and this was like crossing time zones on Garuda, no longer knowing what was day or night or up or down. Another hour passed. Then the big prizes were drawn, then we had dessert (a kind of chocolate layer cake), then at 2:10 I made the move, 6½ hours after I arrived. They were all nice people at the table, but I couldn’t keep it up any longer. There was some relief at getting away, but I was worried I’d have a splitting headache like I did four years ago after attending a New Year’s party in a kind of bunker. I have had a headache today, but nothing on that scale.
As hard as I try, that sort of event is too much for me, though there were many ways it could have been much worse. I’ve already decided I’m going to see in 2024 with a very small band of people, or even on my own.
I’ve been watching some of the darts from London. It’s a nice distraction. My highlight so far has been Mensur Suljovic, the 50-year-old whose facial expressions are a picture, hitting 161 to prolong his match with red-hot favourite Michael van Gerwen. The level of play in the match had been bordering on stratospheric, but in the deciding leg of the fifth set the Dutchman passed up a shot at the bull’s eye to win the match 4-1, expecting quite reasonably that he’d be back to clear up with 18 and double 16. But then in went treble 20, treble 17 and the bull from Mensur, and the commentators were speechless. Van Gerwen did win 4-2 in the end, and now he must be the favourite for the title. I’ve just seen quite a shock as Gabriel Clemens, the big German, took out Gerwyn Price 5-1 in the quarter-finals. Clemens was all over that treble 20 like you wouldn’t believe, and often he could afford to miss doubles at the end of a leg because he’d built up such a hefty lead. The big highlight in this match was Price, after a break at 3-1 down, re-entering the stage wearing building-site-style ear defenders to block out the crowd noise, and maybe distract his opponent. It didn’t work. Darts is a well-designed game that is great for drama, but it has nothing on snooker which has immense tactical depth. I’m already looking forward to the snooker World Championships in April.
