Much as I love Christmas, I really don’t see the big deal with New Year’s Eve.
I know, I know. A lot of people get very excited about tonight’s festivities, but try as I might, I just can’t summon up much enthusiasm. And believe me, I’ve tried.
I’ve done the house parties. I’ve done the city centre celebrations. I’ve even done fireworks at Sydney Harbour Bridge (actually, that one was quite decent).
But over the years I’ve discovered that what you do or where you go on New Year’s Eve can’t make up for the fact that invariably it ends up being a gigantic disappointment.
Partly to blame for this is Aloysius Lilius. After all, he was the guy who came up with the idea for the Gregorian calendar, the one that tells us when to celebrate the start of another year.
Crucially, however, he failed to make allowances for the fact that when New Year’s Eve rolls around everyone’s still skint from Christmas.
If he’d had any brains at all he would have come up with a calendar that had us celebrating New Year in the middle of May.
Anything to break things up a bit and avoid the clash with Christmas.
Do you want to know my best New Year’s Eve ever?
It was the night before the new Millennium when I decided to shun a non-existent invite to the Queen’s rave-up at the Dome and ignore all the other invites from mates who were doing something really exciting – like going to an all-night disco in Rotherham.
Instead I stayed in with a good book and went to bed at 11.59pm precisely.
And it was great. Plus, as an added bonus, it meant I didn’t have to listen to Prince’s 1999 until my ears bled.
For the past few years I haven’t had to face the usual quandary over how to make New Year’s Eve more appealing for the simple reason that the twins have left us with no choice in the matter.
So tonight we’ll be staying in, with my sister keeping us company – which is always lovely because she brings lots of food and alcohol with her. It should be good fun.
There will be no mad scramble to work out the least terrible pub we can get into, no desperate queueing for a taxi at the end of the night and, most important of all, no forced jollity.
Don’t know what you’ve got planned, but whatever it is have a good one. If you can.