New Year

New Year’s Eve Eve, another Last Tuesday Society ball under the London Bridge Railway arches. Masks and dressing-up-box ball gowns, glittery eyes and an early hours of the morning taxi ride home. Oven chips with M and S and C in our kitchen at 5am, eventually all retreating to bed, very, very tired.

New Year’s Eve, with champagne, with friends, with a walk to Primrose Hill to see in 2011, fireworks over the London skyline, Chinese lanterns floating up, up into the dark night, catching in trees, dangerous, beautiful. Sparklers and popping corks, bubbly from plastic cups, a collective cheer from gathered crowds as the first explosions lit up the sky by the London Eye as the clocks struck midnight.

New Year’s Day, another grapefruit-featuring breakfast, fruited loaf, bowl-like cups of coffee, hot chocolate. A day for starting afresh, starting as you mean to go on. Finishing re-threading that necklace that had been lurking for ages, taking a brisk walk through a drizzly Regent’s Park with M and C, remembering to floss.