New Year’s Eve…

My, how fatherhood and marriage – sort of in that order, actually – transform one’s social arrangements come New Year. Once upon a time I’d be darting amongst the neon flashes of the Soho’s nocturne, clutching my ticket for some bash or other, three sheets to the wind and doubtless sniffing out the showbiz sherbert from one of my pharmaceutical brokers. That might sound like a vaguely sentimental recollection, but it isn’t. It’s about 10.30 PM now, and we’re back from the pub. My four year old daughter danced wildly until she dropped from fatigue, slumping in her crayons. My wife sipped her coke, glowing with the bloom of motherhood, and trying not to wretch at the sense of someone’s overpowering New Year’s Eve aftershave. Two pints and we were home. We left the party without a backward glance. I don’t miss being a Sohocialite either. I like mornings, I like memories. For about ten years, I had neither. I had some fun, allegedly, but that’s all over now. I couldn’t go back to it. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret it, but you just move on, don’t you? If you don’t, there’s a problem.

So, here I am, at the keyboard on New Year’s Eve. Mrs D is calling me in to watch Alan Carr, the little mite’s in bed and the kitten is disporting. I’ve just punched, “17th Century Oak” into Ebay, cunningly exploiting the festive depopulation of that renowned auction site… It’s going to be a crazy night of Ebay excess. I might round off the evening with a small rum and perhaps some seasonal sexy time, if I can muster the energy. Poor Mrs D…

And New Year’s Resolutions? Well, they were all made months ago: Just keep smiling. Life is good. Don’t forget it.

 

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One Response to New Year’s Eve…

  1. Times certainly change 🙂

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