Everyone dreads New Years Eve just a little bit, don’t they? Or at least, it makes them a little emotional. They’re either reflecting on what they have or haven’t achieved in the past year, thinking about who they are and are not going to be with at the stroke of midnight, and dreading waking up on New Years Day with that sinking feeling that it’s January and there are 12 long months to go before it’s acceptable to watch Ratatouille in your pyjamas at 4pm eating chocolate Kimberleys/purple Roses/Pringles/Curly Wurlies and drinking Baileys/West Coast Cooler/wine/three cans of Fanta.
There’s also the pressure to get up to something marvellous on New Years Eve, to attend an event worthy enough of the almighty turn of the page on the calendar. This year, I didn’t make any plans, but a last minute turn of events meant that the transition from 2011 to 2012 was the most pleasing in living memory.
There were just two of us. We came together in a last minute arrangement… well, last hour to be precise, not kicking our ‘celebrations’ off until 11pm. I came bearing red wine and Bananagrams, and an iPhone to which I had only managed to add a worrying mish-mash of music from Pearl Jam, Jay-Z, Fleetwood Mac, The Jezabels and The Rubberbandits (I have a very, very strained relationship with iTunes).
Getting stuck into the wine (and bearing in mind that I was on medication which came with a warning against such carry-on) we agreed that we’d play a game or two, listen to some music, ring in the new year, and maybe head into one of the city’s many fine establishments for a wee dance if the fancy took us.
Fast forward to 12.20am, January 1 2012 and there we are, furiously scrambling to make the best words out of our Bananagram tiles, looking cock-eyed at the Ms and Ns and Ps after imbibing much of the wine, occasionally wailing along to Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours and The Jezabels, when suddenly we turned to each other and said ‘Oh! We totally missed the new year’.
It was actually one of the most liberating experiences I’ve had in a while. We hadn’t done the old ten-second countdown which usually ends in a cheer, forced kisses and a realisation that you still have to struggle to the bar to get another drink. Instead we high-fived, said HAPPY NEW YEAR in mock gaiety, delighted that we’d managed to outsmart THE WORLD, and decided we needed to vary our new years playlist a little….
Along we crooned to Video Games, roared all the words along with Florence and Her Machine, did the special gun dance for MIA’s Paper Planes, made up the words to Sleepyhead, sang all seven minutes of All My Friends, laughed at Tinie Tempah keeping so many clothes at his aunt’s house, and relished in shouting “OH-OH SKEET SKEET MOTHERF***ER” along to Get Low.
Out we crazied into the night, meself and himself, flagging down a taxi to take us into town to get a quick dance in. Of course, by the time we got there the cloakroom was closed and they were serving last drinks at the bar, so it was back home before we knew it, but sure who cares? Didn’t we fool new years eve?
“Heaven is a place on earth with you….”
“They couldn’t think of something to say the day you burst…”
“I have this breath and I hold it tight, and I keep it in my chest with all my might…”
“I get rush, I get shivers inside when you call…”
“Like never before….”
“And when you’re running out of the drugs, and the conversation’s grinding away…”