Well, that’s Christmas out of the way; in the end, it wasn’t so bad - spent time with my blood family on Christmas Eve and (one of) my family of choice on Boxing Day, with the small social interregnum on the day itself filled with whiskey (the “e” is deliberate - it was Irish) and chocolate and Mark Cousins’ glorious Story of Film, about which I have been gushing on Twitter for several weeks now. There was a lot of driving - from 23rd to 27th I covered over 500 miles, which the maths experts will quickly spot equals roughly 100 miles a day) - but that’s what you get for living miles away from everyone else.
Christmas is a picnic compared to what’s coming up, though: New Year’s Eve. I’m not trying to be grumpy (I don’t have to try, it just comes naturally) but I really do find New Year’s Eve/New Year’s Day to be the most depressing time of the year. The endless reviews of the year just gone, the reminders of the triumphs and the tragedies, the relentless pressure to celebrate what is, essentially, just another day, the “resolutions” that everyone knows will have been broken by the end of the month... When I was married, a lifetime ago, we used to go and stay in a local hotel on New Year’s Eve; they had a dinner dance which solved the problem of what to do quite nicely but for the last... I can’t remember how many years, I’ve spent NYE at home, on my own. I don’t think I was even awake at midnight last year.
Little ‘Un’s with me this year (his mother and I alternate) and he wants to stay up - last year he watched Jools Holland, apparently, and wants to do so again. (I really can’t think where he gets his musical taste from, bless him!) So, I’ll be up at midnight, raising a glass. Not to 2011 - which was not a great year either for me or for some of the people I care about - but to 2012: the possibilities and the potential. I hope that 2012 will see some massive changes for the better for me - and for you, too.
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