Christmas wasn’t white, and the street was quiet when fireworks lit the sky up on New Year’s eve. I remember this period having qualities that would stir up nostalgic feelings in me, time off from school playing in the snow (in my skimpy pyjamas and slippers, infamously) and the neighbours down the street all standing in their driveways with champagne (or Shloer) in hand the moment the clocks struck midnight, screaming HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!! at each other.
We had Queen and Take That with Don’t Stop me Now and Never Forget ringing in the new year on the TV and now we have Murder on the Dance Floor and Life is a Rollercoaster. Does any Gen Z individual even know who Ronan Keating is? I even spent one New Year’s Eve around a decade ago watching the fireworks in London (I use “watching” very loosely; really, I was stuck in a crowd for hours and having a jolly good time just hanging out in the freezing cold whether or not there were colours and smoke in the sky. ‘Happy new year Lon-don’ shouted the very drunk and happy European man as we all trawled to the tube station at snail pace that night. Never doing that again). Now, London’s firework display is a giant advert for whatever money-grabber is out at the time (I have not and will not watch Wicked, even if you play it through the London Eye).
Maybe it’s part of growing up and seeing the world change so much, but everything feels different, which both dampens and highlights the feelings these celebrations are supposed to bring forth. New years eve celebrations are a lot more fun when all of the siblings are now old enough to play an actually fun game of Who Am I (your dad is your weird uncle and your 12 year old brother is P. Diddy), but even that is tinged with the bittersweet feeling that you’ll go home after that and everybody is just getting older. Even the cat will look fatter the next time you see him.
Perhaps that sharp slap in the face of January is what we need to bring us out of the belief that life is supposed to be a never-ending feel-good sitcom. That real life is going to continue happening outside your bubble, whether you want it to or not. Whether you agree with it or not. You will carry the same hilarious jokes into your old age and everyone around your table will continue to laugh at them, but the world is going to change and change, and now it finds them offensive and you have to find a way to adapt.
Where December is supposed to feel warm and fuzzy, January feels loud and clinical. December sounds like the clinking of glasses, laughter, and Mariah Carey. January sounds like the biggest ticking clock you’ve ever heard, and it starts before the countdown has even finished.
10… I’m how old next year?…9…Am I going to be stuck in this job forever?…8…Wait slow down, what have I even done in the last twelve months?…7…I didn’t do all the admin I was supposed to leave in December…6…Look at the state of the world. Look at what we’ve allowed. I can’t believe it’s been another year of bullshit…5…Covid stole my life from me…4…So many things to do, place to see, foods to eat…3… I could have done so much, and yet?…2…Everything is bleak, nothing ever changes…1…
And then the fireworks go boom and the sky is a hundred different colours and you’re there, a tiny speck in a big city, celebrating the new year with millions of other people at the same time. Everyone is joyous and everyone is bringing in the new year together; everyone is saying good riddance to 2025 and celebrating what could be.
We’re all in this stupid world on this sinking ship surrounded by bullshit together. A handful of us are stood atop the mast, drinking Dom Pérignon and laughing at everyone below; some of us are drinking Aldi Prosecco in a cabin and mimicking the laughs of those above them; most of us are guzzling Shloer and playing Who Am I until the ship goes under. And that makes me feel better.
Now playing: Violins and Tambourines – Stereophonics