Why it’s time to bring back the house party
There’s no question that the pandemic, and the lock- down restrictions which were introduced to help control it, have profoundly affected the way we interact so- cially. From wearing masks to the dreaded “rule of six”, we suddenly found our lives governed by regula- tions in a way no-one has experi- enced since (yes, I’m going to invoke it now) the Second World War.
Here isn’t the place to rake over the ashes of lockdown and argue about what was and wasn’t justified. That’s for the history books, and there is a small but enthusiastic group of fanatics who will keep the querulous flame alive until then. But as we come out of most of the state-imposed conditions, it’s worth looking at the new world, and decided how we want to enjoy ourselves.
I wrote last summer — rather optimistically, perhaps — that we should get out and enjoy ourselves after what seemed a long and bleak year of control. Little did I know! But we have had some respite, some gaps in between restrictions, some opportunities to let our collective hair down. Now, though, on the verge of spring 2022, the direction of travel seems decisively towards freedom.
I’ve waxed about the joys of dinner parties in the past, and I do believe in doing them properly, pushing the boat out and making them a special occasion. I know that swims against the trend for informal ‘kitchen suppers’ (that phrase makes me shudder) but I like to feel that my guests are having an experience, one that they would not have if they’d simply stayed at home.
Dinner parties are hard work. If you have them every weekend (there was a period last year when I did), you can burn out and, worst of all, the preparation for them can become a chore, squeezed of all the joy you should experience. I’ve come to realise, however, that I do miss house parties.
I know the grander among you will probably still hold such gatherings. Hire some caterers, let them, flit between high-ceilinged rooms with canapés and champagne, as the summer breeze drifts in from the square in Chelsea or Belgravia. And that’s lovely. But it is also self-selecting (though invitations can be sent to me care of City A.M.).
Maybe I like house parties so much because I was weaned on them as a student. I went to university in a small town, and, while we had an impressive number of pubs per head, we had no nightclubs, but a reasonable stock of Victorian and Edwardian flats and houses for students to rent. So when the bell rang for last orders, it was easy enough to round up some friends and some bottles, and continue the socialising.
It was informal yet slightly more grown-up than a bottle of white cider in the park; it was inclusive and generous, yet not expensive. And it ran the gamut of activities, from frenetic dancing in the middle of living rooms with furniture pushed to the walls, to whispers and shared confidences in darkened hallways and on stairs.
It’s that I miss. As an adult, if I say to people “Would you like to come round for a few drinks?”, the response is often a polite variant on
“Why?” Sometimes a sporting fixture can be a convenient hook, though I’m not much of a sportsman myself. Watching a film requires too much concentration and silence. But really, what I mean is, would you, group A of my friends, like to come round and socialise with group B of my friends, without the formality and fuss of a sit-down meal.
Maybe I’m grasping for the threads of youth. Maybe middle- aged people just don’t do house parties. But I strongly believe that we have the opportunity, after the worst of the pandemic, to cast off some rules and conventions, and mould our social lives better to what we want. So in that spirit, I encourage you to order a case of wine and some bottles or cans of beer, maybe some harder liquor, and appeal to your friends to come and spend time with you. No pressure to produce food, no pressure to entertain, just comfortable, amiable co-existence. It’s a little thing that turns out to be really quite big.