When I was growing up, New Year's Eve night was spent, along with a couple of cousins, at my grandma and Aunty M's little house, waiting for my mum and dad and other relatives to return from their celebrations in the cocktail lounge at a hotel in town. One of my uncles, a railway porter and the only dark haired family member, was always first footer, after which the Christmas cake would be cut, served always with white Stilton cheese and accompanied by glasses of whisky for the men and sherry for the ladies. Then everyone trooped out to let in the new year at my aunts' houses in the same terraced street as grandma's, often by way of a conga, which we kids just loved.
I remember one New Year's Eve when I was about six, everyone congregated on the nearby marketplace, all facing the parish church. As the clock struck midnight, a figure dressed in a white robe appeared at the top of the church, between the two steeples, waving to the crowd. I learned many years later he was a returning missionary. On the night itself I was convinced we'd seen God!
Tonight will be just the three of us and a bottle of the fizzy stuff. (We had this particularly yummy one last night as the Girlie is returning home to Manchester today and no, we haven't won the lottery!)
As 2011 trickles away, I'd like to raise my virtual glass and wish you all a happy and healthy New Year. See you in 2012.