Ouch and double ouch. I was expecting Auld Lang Syne. Or a communal glass raising. Cheers or embraces.
Instead the assembled mob in the living room counted down to zero and instantly began to seethe in a frenzy of squirming activity and mutterings – which I realised too late to defend myself was “Pinch, punch, first of the month.”
And that’s why you should never let children stay up to midnight on New Year’s Eve – least of all a pincer-fingered horde of them.
In fact, there’s no respect for tradition at all these days. No first footer. No hangover. (Unheard of!)
Just the solitary trip to the bottle bank to kick off 2012. (I hope its neighbours love the sound of breaking glass.) So the new year is already smashing. Or to delve back to the word’s Irish root – Is maith sin (sounds similar if you pronounce it right) – it is good. And so it will be.
To give a proper aural flavour of the evening there should be an endless medley of One Direction and Little Mix below. But seeing as I (yes, me, ME, woohahahaa) control the music here, you can have this reflective song for the wee hours when things wax melancholy. It’s Ron Sexsmith.