New Years Eve, New Years Eve, Fuck and Bollocks.


December 31st 2003. Last day of this year. Whilst playing Trivial pursuits over Christmas I was asked what date Victorians celebrated the turn of the century on. Well fact lovers, it was the 1st January 1901. My wife, before reading the answer, said “They did it properly.” But in 2000 the masses spoke, and while the thoughts of going along with the great unwashed makes you want to go “No, no you’re wrong, fuck off! you dim fuckers!” There is something about the guy, you know the type, who sits in a room going on about the rest of the world that just doesn’t appeal to me. As it is, New Years Eve, was then, is now, and will continue forevermore to be shit. It is de facto the worst night of the year. But it is getting better. I think this is more to do with me, then the night itself. Over the last twenty eight years I have tried many ways to combat New Years Eve. I use the word combat because it is war. Feel free to try these NYE remedies, but bear in mind they only brought me limited success.

• 18 pints of Guinness
• Sex with the wrong women
• Waking up to find your best friend about to take a piss on you
• Getting stoned as a badger
• Walking around Dublin endlessly
• Trying too hard to have a good time
• Swimming in the north sea

I say things are getting better this year because I am working, and because I am working I cannot go to Lahinch Co.Clare and try too hard to have fun. So I am going home, to my wife, where I will sit and drink champagne. My brother may come over on his way home from work, that’ll be nice. My friends will be in Clare, probably not fucking, as they know each other far to well for any of that carry on, my eldest brother, sister and parents will be in Toad having dinner, and my other brother will be celebrating his wife’s birthday at home. I like the sound of this NYE. It speaks to me.