Chrissie Russell: New Year’s Eve sucks but I’m still glad for those awful nights out of my youth

As the countdown to midnight sounded out, I was being led down the backstairs of the nightclub by a friend, crying loudly about the boy who had ditched me that evening. It was the noughties, so I was wearing a pair of angel’s wings, no doubt an incongruous sight with my mascara streaked face, and even through the fog of excess emotion (and even more excess alcohol) I could understand why I’d been politely asked to leave the New Year’s Eve festivities. My vibe was not in keeping with the celebratory tone of the event.

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