#3 DORIAN, NOTTING HILL
You don’t need me to tell you that we’re well into the depths of party season. Coffee jitters, the unmistakable whiff of Christmas shindig shame and the glittery residue on just about everything should have given that away long ago. Unless you’re supersonic, collective social batteries are already dwindling. No matter how much you adore those close to you, how many times can you really listen to yourself moan about Sharon from work; your best mate update you on their relationship despite the fact you’ve already analysed every aspect of it in the group chat; or your partner chew too loudly before you go (jazz hands, please) full psycho? After all, it’s about to really ramp up. Unlike the light at the end of the tunnel, the cold, hard reality of family, their views, and their terrifying habits is incoming. Yes, adopting the foetal position with a takeaway burrito is an option, but after the year we’ve had, I think it’s time for a little solo self-indulgence, don’t you?
