Today I’ve been attending a virtual New Year’s Eve party, as before the introduction of the Gregorian calendar in 1752, tomorrow was the old New Year’s Day in England.
I’ve been on various video conferencing platforms throughout the past week, but never with a gin and Fanta in my hand. I hadn’t realised until rummaging earlier, that I’m now living in a tonic-free zone and my only mixer option was an old free can of pop that came with a takeaway, and I really can’t stress this enough, I wish never to taste the combination of lemon drizzle gin and orange Fanta ever again.
Booze disaster aside, it was lovely to see friends I’ve spent normal New Year’s Eves with laughing and healthy. And despite the weirdness of it all, we all raised our glasses and wished each other a Happy New Year.
We never quite made it to midnight, we forgot to sing Auld Lang Syne and we couldn’t hug each other goodbye, but as New Year’s Eves go, it totally hit the spot.
By the way, my original plan for today was learning how to play a trumpet as it’s also old St Gabriel’s Day, and Gabriel did love a good parp. But for the sake of neighbourly love, it’s probably best that my plans changed.
Cooper, Q. and Sullivan, P. (1994) Maypoles, Martyrs & Mayhem: 366 Days of British Myths, Customs & Eccentricities, London, Bloomsbury Publishing Plc