adore amy

and that is why…

…I never make plans for New Years Eve.

The optimism of the morning was scuppered at every turn, not least by Waitrose (who forgot to give me the main item in my special New Year order, which I didn’t discover until I got home), TfL (who ensured the punter I had to get back for and whose booking prevented me from immediately returning to Waitrose to sort it out was so late I actually could have made it with a good twenty minutes to spare) and eventually by good old fashioned twattery itself.

Despite running so late I had no time to eat any of the things that did make it into in the Waitrose order before dashing into town, I decided to try and throw the day’s shit-cloud off and get on with my evening, only to have some monumental cunt in the seat behind me at the Prince Charles roaring with laughter at the top of his voice throughout the film. Bearing in mind that I’m deaf and I could still hear him, I imagine most of the auditorium – certainly including me – spent much of the screening planning his violent demise, and the combination of this and being so ravenously hungry I could have eaten my seat cushion pretty much finished me off.

As much as I endeavour to stay upbeat wherever possible without being the sort of insufferable twat everybody wants to punch, I had to admit defeat and instead of taking my ticketed place on the embankment to watch the fireworks, I threw in the towel and went home; even a quick detour for a look round the new Elizabeth Line station at Bond Street wasn’t enough to change my mind, fabulous though it was.

Cue my next mistake, which was thinking that feeling a bit better after some dim sum and half a Waitrose raspberry trifle meant I should put my coat on and find somewhere to watch the fireworks I had been looking forward to for months – this ended with a pointless walk down to St Pauls only to find the bridge shut, and with twenty minutes or so left to pick a vantage point that wasn’t a three inch gap between buildings on Lower Thames Street I gave up; I did hear a lot of loud bangs and even saw a few sparks from the side of a building, but the rest was watched on YouTube when I got in. I could have saved myself an hour and a half if I’d just sat tight in front of the TV in the first place to see the fireworks I’d been looking forward to for months – no fireworks photo for the header either! Fuck you, Laughing Man.

Thankfully, 2023 (aka the following day) brought a complete about turn, with the requisite New Years Day big lie in and a fry followed by a trip up to Angel and Matthew Bourne’s Sleeping Beauty at Sadlers Wells. Given that some sixteen hours earlier I couldn’t have felt more sorry for myself if I’d tried, this was definitely a result; the only real shame was that the shops were shut, but to be fair I can ransack the yellow stickers at M&S any day. Tchaikovsky, dark fairies and vampires for the win – yay! And all barely twenty minutes away from my front door.

Onward to the present, and being once (or rather several times) bitten after barely making it back from negotiating an endless procession of cancelled trains, engineering works with lengthy diversions on far too many occasions over the last few months, I decided to quit while I was ahead and stay put for this weekend too (I might even join in the Trouserless Tube Ride tomorrow – watch this space!) The coming week is hopefully back to business as usual, and with only two weeks left of my forties to go, the birthday countdown can start in earnest; plans are being made, but nothing is finalised – after New Years Eve, going with the flow on the day may well turn out to be the way forward.

Never was there a more fitting Song Of The Week, even had I not been looking for an excuse to include it for as long as I can remember. You can never have too much Led Zeppelin, after all.

More soon! I’ll maybe see you in the week…

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