Unfortunately this year I ended up spending New Year's Eve hauled up in the warehouse where I work, unpacking products to be shelved and sorting out where to put them.
How sad it is, that work should continue to dictate the way we live. Without money we are helpless. I spent last New Year's Eve in an undoubtedly better fashion. My wife and I invited round not only our nearest and dearest, but some of the neighbours too. Jean from number 56 even bought her cream labrador round. The kids loved it!
And so the evening began, just like many other's around England, a table laden with cheap booze and nibbles, serviettes and paper plates, fizzy drinks for the kids and the best quality Bucks Fizz for the mother-in-law. Out on the cold lawn in the back garden lay my pitiful display of discount fireworks, ready to be let off at 12 on the dot. We had music on the CD player, provided by my fashion conscious daughters and the Beeb's Hogmanay coverage on standby. New Year's is a funny little celebration, soo much more important abroad. It marks the end of the year, a chance to look back on one's achievements with pride, whilst at the same time a warning bell sounds and you look out in dread at the calendar and realise how little time you have to start those new year's resolutions and miserably fail them. The humiliation! I have always wanted to pop over to Scotland and see how they really celebrate it there. I could do with a bite of Haggis and some jolly bag pipes playing in my ear. Alas, I don't see it on the cards, not until such time as the boss lets me have another bank holiday off work.
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Unfortunately this year I ended up spending New Year's Eve hauled up in the warehouse where I work, unpacking products to be shelved and sorting out where to put them.
How sad it is, that work should continue to dictate the way we live. Without money we are helpless.
I spent last New Year's Eve in an undoubtedly better fashion. My wife and I invited round not only our nearest and dearest, but some of the neighbours too. Jean from number 56 even bought her cream labrador round. The kids loved it!
And so the evening began, just like many other's around England, a table laden with cheap booze and nibbles, serviettes and paper plates, fizzy drinks for the kids and the best quality Bucks Fizz for the mother-in-law. Out on the cold lawn in the back garden lay my pitiful display of discount fireworks, ready to be let off at 12 on the dot.
We had music on the CD player, provided by my fashion conscious daughters and the Beeb's Hogmanay coverage on standby.
New Year's is a funny little celebration, soo much more important abroad. It marks the end of the year, a chance to look back on one's achievements with pride, whilst at the same time a warning bell sounds and you look out in dread at the calendar and realise how little time you have to start those new year's resolutions and miserably fail them. The humiliation!
I have always wanted to pop over to Scotland and see how they really celebrate it there. I could do with a bite of Haggis and some jolly bag pipes playing in my ear.
Alas, I don't see it on the cards, not until such time as the boss lets me have another bank holiday off work.