So here we are at New Year's eve again. The scene for this is as usual: mounds of turkey still in the fridge, fighting for space with ham, cheese, brandy butter, etc., etc. The house still littered with Christmas detritus including half-eaten boxes of chocs, bowls of peanuts, dates, satsumas and about 80% of the Christmas cake which stares at us threateningly. We haven't even touched the Christmas pudding yet. In our house, it's a custom around this time of year to ask ourselves why we buy so much stuff at Christmas and to swear never to do it again but of course the following year, we do exactly that.
So we all suffer from a bit of what the Catalans might call post nadal depression. And then along comes New Year's eve to jolly us all up again or not, as the case may be. I've never been much of a fan of New Year's eve myself. It amounts to celebrating the fact that you're one more year closer to death and it's hard to see what's so great about that. Of course it's compulsory to go out and drink a great deal but you can't get a taxi, or if you can you need to part with a sizable part of your life savings; and if you've got kids, you can't get a babysitter so going out at all is something of a nightmare. That's why we have developed the cunning ploy of staying in and having people come to our place, thus avoiding all the problems associated with going out, which includes the fact that we've eaten so much over the festive period that it's hard to move anywhere without mechanical assistance anyway.
So we slave all day, cooking up a load of exotic curries and our friends do likewise, bring them all round to ours and we pig out (as if we haven't done this enough already). There's always way too much curry and in a kind of loaves and fishes scenario, by the time we've finished, there appears to be just as much left as when we started. Then, digestive systems screaming for mercy, we collapse in front of Jools Holland's programme on the box. Cue mutterings about the line-up not being as good as previous years. And then we're left with mountains of uneaten curry to add to the turkey, ham, Christmas cake, etc., etc.
But it's all change this year. Someone round the corner is having a party which ticks all the boxes about not wanting to travel and means our uneaten food pile will not increase exponentially as in previous years. Of course it still means having to sing some bizarre old Scottish song and wish everyone a happy new year, which as I've said, I can never quite see is something to get excited about.
Still, by that time, the alcohol will have numbed the pain of the whole thing and we can stumble a few yards back home to catch the end of what really does look like a mediocre list of acts on Jools' annual knees-up.
And then it's back to more cold turkey and stilton for breakfast. Have a good one won't you and try not to drink too sensibly.
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