I'm arguing for a slightly more ambitious approach to celebrating the passing of the years - less obliteration, more celebration. A sample:
I keenly remember my first big New Year's celebration. I was 15 or 16, and off to a huge party I'd heard about. I was ready for excitement: babes, loud music and a little alcohol. Maybe even a fight, if the music and mood were suitably intoxicating.(Photo: Rob Chandler)
But someone called the police, and the party fizzled out. I have a vivid, embarrassing vision of my evening: dressed to the nines in flannel shirt, Body Count T-shirt and jeans, wandering the streets with 10 or so schoolfriends, trying to find another party. We never did.
Since then, I've been to many different New Year's Eve dinners, parties, drinks. Some expensive, some dirt cheap. Some with work, some with mates. Interestingly, most have had the same atmosphere as that night almost two decades ago: aimlessness, anticlimax, all with a whiff of desperation.