Last year’s Hogmanay celebrations consisted of me and Mr P trying to concentrate on an evening of sophisticated wining and dining with friends while trying not to let our thoughts stray to worrying about The Teenager catching hypothermia or worse.
She’d last been seen venturing into the below-zero night air wearing a pair of sequinned hot pants and some patchy fake tan.
This seems to be the norm when you get to a certain age.
We’ve gone from craving participation in a mass gathering to craving an early night and knowing our loved ones are tucked up safe and sound.
When I was a teenager, my biggest concern regarding any outdoor Hogmanay celebration was focused on the bathroom situation and the practicalities of high heels in snow.
I don’t really remember the cold bothering me so it’s a surprise to me that I seem to spend a large portion of my life from September to February saying: “Why don’t you put on a nice pair of woolly tights with that?”
I shudder to think of all those countdowns to midnight which were punctuated by some stranger – who looked as though they might have been sick recently – lurching in for a kiss.
That was usually after the traipse from party to party, searching desperately for the BEST NIGHT OF YOUR LIFE which was surely round the next corner.
Nowadays, a successful night is one where we can stay local (no blisters on the feet), with good friends (not so likely to lurch in for as snog after throwing up) and ideally get to bed before 1am.
Help! Have just reviewed the preceding paragraphs. Urgent New Year resolution: Get mojo back.
Not altogether sure what that is or whether I’ve ever had it but will try very hard to acquire it in 2017.
Happy New Year when it comes.