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).