1. The chunderer
Tim refers to himself as 'the tank', because, y'know, he's so bloody good at drinking. You can easily spot him: he's the one hammering Jägerbombs at 8pm and telling anyone who'll listen about how he's 'such a heavyweight these days'. This bold claim will be disproved when he's hugging the toilet at 10pm and chucking up the five Big Macs he ate to line his stomach. That worked out well, didn't it, Tim?
2. The people-pleaser
Amy loves parties almost as much as she loves people, which is why she's agreed to go to five different parties this New Year's Eve. Itíll be five times the fun, she tells herself. Sure, all those Ubers will be insanely expensive, but you can't put a price on a good time. As it turns out, Amy only makes it to her third destination. Exhausted and unable to keep going on just gin and canapés any longer, she passes out under a pile of coats just as the clock strikes midnight.
4. The recluse
Roger hates New Year's Eve. He's not interested in socialising; too much human interaction makes him come over all queasy. Instead, he'll be seeing in the New Year the way he does it every year: safe in the confines of his living room with a bottle of port, a reduced packet of minced pies and no one but Jools and pals for company. Sure, he could catch it on iPlayer later instead, but he worries it won't be quite the same.
3. The desperate snogger
Steve hasn't had any action in months. Strategically placing mistletoe in the doorway of his flat proved fruitless, but he's got one shot left this year. Tonight is The Night, he thinks. Unfortunately for Steve, the only thing his mouth will be coming into contact with come midnight is an angry man's fist. This will follow an attempt to lock lips with the man's girlfriend, having misinterpreted her polite small talk as 'flirting'. Better luck next year, pal. Maybe put some ice on that?
5. The crier
Sharon has developed a reputation for crying at parties. Three glasses of champagne and she's a goner. But this year will be different, she's sure of it. Sadly for Sharon, once she's knocked back a whole bottle of Moët, all her good intentions go out of the window and she's weeping uncontrollably about how she's wasted a whole year, and wailing 'nobody loves meeeee' in between snotty sobs. Maybe it's all the crying – did you ever think of that, Sharon? Pull yourself together, honestly.
By Isabelle Aron, who will be sensibly waiting until at least 10pm to crack out the Jägermeister.
Illustrations: Nathan James Page