We had a staggeringly good new year's eve. I looked out all the finery and pomp that could be associated with dining. We sat down to dinner prepared by my culinary champion, my hubby, with nine round the table and another three we couldn't fit in busking it in the lounge. Everyone was adorned in some sort of silliness and so the night progressed. Daft games, all with prizes saw some familiar objects being reallocated after having done the rounds of countless parties. (I stuck a whole load of stuff we didn't want/need in one of our eldest daughter's bags when she left. She won't find it until she unpacks!
All in all it was an astonishingly fun night and I eventually went to bed at 3.15am, having cleared away the final dregs when everyone else had left.
For the actual moment of the new year we turned to the televised coverage of the London fireworks and while it was spectacular we all agreed that in this era of austerity, perhaps something less ostentatious would have been more appropriate. Goodness knows how many daily carers and hospital admissions went up in smoke. While it was magnificent, we all felt that someone somewhere wasn't quite in tune with our mood and probably the mood of the whole country.