It’s New Year’s Eve.
I’ve never really liked New Year’s Eve. It’s a nothing night. It does nothing for me. People lose their shit about the passing of the year, but I can’t be arsed with all that.
For me New Year’s Eve is just another night, with memories of the worst bottle of wine my dad, mum and myself ever tasted or the time mum had some “bad Bombay mix” and fell asleep against the bathroom door and we were never allowed to mention it.
It’s also the night that Carole goes to bed at about 10pm and sleeps through the solid hour and a bit of fireworks that we get at midnight. I’m still up, making sure that Peppa is in the house, and remains in the house, in the run up to midnight, and then staying up until the last possible firework has gone off – usually after 1am because people are bellends – so that I can unblock said cat flap to prevent the house being filled with cat shit in the morning.
And Carole sleeps through all of that.
And by the time I get to bed, she’s moved into my side of the bed and I can’t get into it.
Happy New Year everybody!