For some of us the New Year has arrived with a bang or but with a whisper, or with a snore for those of you who slept through it, which I think, just a sneaky suspicion, could be the case with my lack of texts this year. I forgive you all, don't mention it.
It for me has not yet arrived and to celebrate I will maybe go up to Parliament Hill to watch the visual spendor, sans rain, that will be fireworks across London. However, I can just as easily watch bits of it from my bedroom window, or more comfortably still from the comfort of the sofa on the tele. We are currently watching "The Greatest Songs of the Noughties" followed by "Your Top 20 Celebrity Big Brother Moments " and then....come on there is theme here...quality viewing all round "The Greatest TV Shows of the Noughties". Enthralling stuff, I believe I will be asleep by 11.33pm
Last night enduring grumpy celebrities talking about New Years and what it does or rather doesn't mean to them, one pointed out that every year thousands of people flock to Trafalgar Square about 11pm, come snow, rain, hail and sleet, for a 10 second countdown, a rowdy rendition of Auld Lang Syne and a snog if your lucky. Only to then be left with the chaos of the mass attempt to enter the tube for a free ride home, dash to the train station in hopes of getting the last train to Timbucktoo that left about 10pm or upturn the bollards of Westminster in the hopes of plucking out a henstooth of a cab, of which all mysteriously disapear at about 11.53pm without fail each year; hey they gotta celebrate too.
Then suddenly my impromtu eve of New Years Eve "bright spark" plans to embark on said Square at 11pm suddenly seemed a little lame, unforfilling and full of effort that I just really couldn't be arsed mustering.
So I celebrate with Mark from my living room with a glass of champagne in my tracky dacks...Happy New Year Everyone...