We sat around a table in the basement of a cocktail bar; the boys in bow ties and black jackets, the girls in sequins, sparkles and short hem lines.
(PiB was sporting a fox fur stole that, as karma would have it, she was allergic to.)
"So, let's have it" someone said, "New year resolutions?"
We went round the table, where the usual suspects (stopping smoking, a dry January and gym memberships) were touted as 2013 goals. Eventually it was my turn, and I thought for a moment.
"Don't know, really. Cut out the Ex. Try not to be an idiot. Cook more. Be bored less."
When it comes to resolutions, I subscribe to the school of thought that you can change the things you don't like at any time, not just the turn of a year. But for some reason, January 2nd, 2013 seems like a good date to make some real change happen to the life I've been bubbling along with - sometimes contentedly, other times not - for the last twelve months.
From starting a new job, to a sudden house move, an unexpected run-in (or ten) with The Ex, and the loss of an old friend, 2012 wasn't exactly devoid of drama.
But there was also a lot of good stuff: my friendship group grew wide and brilliant, fellow bloggers became mates in the real world, my new neighbourhood became a home, and being happy by myself became a default setting, instead of one I was having to accept without a choice.
Going on holiday, cinema visits, turning up at parties or events - anything that would usually be done in pairs or more, I made a concrete effort to do alone - and it paid off.
Occasional heart flutters proved that I wasn't dead to the idea of romance; just picky, enjoying my own company and recovering slowly from the last one. That took a bit of getting used to, especially when the world around me seemed to be falling in love or going out on dates. But here we are almost two years on from one of life's big crashes, and god, I'm ready to let that whole thing go.
Because last month made me realise I'm bored of it. Bored of him being in my head, bored of the word "Ex" coming up in conversation. I'm bored of playing nice when I see him in the street, bored of wondering how he is. I'm bored of blogging about him, of attributing any of the decisions I make to him. I'm bored of entertaining the idea that this ridiculous, silly man-child who did so much to make me happy, then so much to hurt me, could ever live up to my expectations again.
I can't un-happen what happened in January 2011, but I can stop the ex-related boredom from happening now. All that requires is to leave him in 2012, while I skip on into 2013.
It was a few hours into the New Year when we were back at someone's house in central London carrying on the party. I sat atop a kitchen counter - really quite drunk now, rum in hand - when a friend appeared next to me and said, "I've got a new years resolution for you."
"What's that then?"
"Don't take it the wrong way. I've known you about a year now, and it's just something I've noticed."
"Go on, I can take it. I'm hardcore. Like a lion. A massive pissed lion."
He paused, raised an equally drunk eyebrow.
"You should be more open to stuff. People, mainly. You should give people a chance more. You know, let them in a bit."
And just as I was about to spout the same old excuses, I remembered my resolution.
"Yeah. I want to. That should be easier now. I'll give it a go. But first I have another new year challenge. I want to do the DIRTY DANCING LIFT."
Then I drained my drink, turned up the music and took to the other side of the kitchen floor for my run-up.
"Ready? GO GO GO"
As I crashed to the ground for the fifth time in as many minutes, I concluded that while some things will inevitably change this year; others will definitely not.