Over the years I’ve thrown some cracking house parties. I would cram my first flat with as many humans as possible back in the day, music blaring, vodka flowing and very little food. Then in my first little cottage I threw a fifties night where my males friends turned up with slicked back hair and ankle swinger trousers and the ladies all sashayed in in voluminous skirts ready to dance the night away. In my late twenties and early thirties, I would have huge Christmas parties that started whilst I was live on Radio 1 and would finish when the neighbours started complaining in the wee hours. 

More recently I have changed how I approach house parties as my values, energy levels and desires have shifted with age. If you follow me on Instagram, you’ll know that I am not a night owl. I start to physically twitch if there are still people in my house at 9pm. I also hate mess. In my twenties I would happily wander off to bed with beer bottles in the sink and even actual humans sleeping on the sofas, there is no way I would sleep knowing I had an overflowing bin bag and crisps ground into the rug. I’m also pooped most of the time. If you’re my age, or have kids, or both you may well feel the same. I don’t have it in me to dance on the sofa singing along to Craig David songs like I used to, yet that doesn’t mean I can’t throw a mean party. 


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