Have all your bells been jingled and you’re now ready to forget your auld acquaintances? I know I am and even though I’m a massive Christmas fan, why do I feel a little bereft now it’s all over?
December flew past in a fairy lit blur. Maybe due to being a parent or even a hospitality business owner.
Maybe due to the ‘Christmas’ fairy not turning up to do everything again this year, she really needs a performance review ASAP.
A few days before Christmas I had a red mist moment and announced if Santa’s Little Helpers didn’t show face soon there wouldn’t BE a Christmas.
I was suddenly at the Snow White Seven Dwarf’s Olympics judging by the enthusiastic whistles while they worked.
Time to relax
To me the run up to Christmas has always been about everyone else. Ensuring those we love know how special they are to us. Sharing gifts, visits, even making telephone calls instead of texts.
But from Boxing Day we morph to the in-between phase. Those few days where none of us know exactly what to do with ourselves.
The post-Christmas lull where any urgency has passed and it’s finally time to catch your breath. And do a run to the bottle bank.
We’ve spent many years working both Christmas and New Year but this year we have the gift of time. A moment to ourselves.
We shall just be what we want to be, where we want to be, with those we want to be with. Or not. Movie marathons and left overs are also an option not to be discounted.
I’m looking forward to pyjama days. Long dog walks. Reading books and taking naps. Remembering what it means to be Scottish on Hogmanay and recalling New Years past.
Parties in times past
How has it all changed. What traditions can responsibly we pass down to our kids as we blend from this ‘old’ year into the new?
My teenage years were spent going from one house party to another, dodgy carry out in hand, usually whatever you could swipe unnoticed from the drinks cabinet. If you were really lucky, your bestie’s big brother and his mates were there with a better stash.
Uni years spent wearing too few clothes on Princess Street, standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers, sharing their hip flasks and faces for that all important snog at the bells.
From the safety of my cosy couch, I can only imagine the presence of eleventy billion mobile phones has ruined that rite of passage forever. Folks too busy recording the moment to actually be in it.
The most popular person
When I hit my late twenties, early thirties I was the most popular person at the Hogmanay party.
I’m not blowing my own trumpet here, it was only because I always seemed to be pregnant. Therefore, rather than standing in a queue for hours waiting on an overpriced taxi, they had access to the holy grail – a designated driver.
Treated like a queen, at least until home time, then I went to bed utterly exhausted while they carried on celebrating. Windows flung open to welcome in the New Year and all it’s opportunities.
At every house party, regardless of tunes loud enough to make the floorboards bounce, the TV would be on in the background.
Jackie Bird. It just isn’t Hogmanay without Jackie trying to show the importance of our ‘Scottishishness’.
Let’s blow the budget and get Ricky Ross to do an interview followed by an appearance from Texas or Eddie Reader.
A big night, a fresh start
Slow, panning shots round the castle, displaying the lone piper and infamous fireworks. Showing the world the Scots know how to bring in the new year properly.
It’s a lot of pressure. The expectation of an excellent night immediately followed by a fresh start.
Forget the hangover or cleaning down sticky kitchen surfaces. If you haven’t immediately gone for a jog in your shiny new trainers before breakfast on the 1st of January, then you’ve missed it and might as well wait till next year.
So, instead of finishing this year strong, I’m going soft. I am just going to finish the year restful, quietly grateful for making it through yet another crazy turn around the sun.
Happy Hogmanay All with love from mine to yours.
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