Happy 2015 chickens! I hope you all had a wonderful NYE ie. that your wallets and dignity remained intact; you didn’t freeze your butt off/exhaust your patience/torture your bladder waiting hours for fireworks; that if you kissed someone, it was the right someone (eg. the loveable outcast from Chino with the soulful eyes and not the creepy obsessive rich kid who will later hold you captive at gunpoint in his penthouse)…
…and that you remembered to eat your 12 Colombian genie grapes! Personally, I drank a lot of sparkling wine – Tesco’s finest, natch – and gobbled a packet of chocolate-covered raisins around midnight for sustenance so I assume I’m covered…though I probably wasted my wishes longing for more raisins, flat shoes and bed.
I rang in the New Year at the Varsity Club which has an amazing rooftop terrace, perfect for an unobscured view of Oxford’s skyline. Which proved necessary to get even a glimpse of the few valiant but pitifully small fireworks (think less lancework and booming Catherine wheels…more damp squibs and the kind of poprockets which Ginger Meggs-ish Queensland teenagers would have used to blow up cane toads back in the day). But we had a super group, a great DJ (pure top 40, what more could you want?) and blacktie mandate which made for a dreamy Gatsby-esque scene of tuxedo-ed fellas and sequin-shedding gals. Oh and the winning factor? It was a mere 3 blocks from my house.
I spent yesterday hungover and watching Sleepless in Seattle; today writing an essay on whether the following scenarios are appropriate analogies for the abortion debate: people-seeds who have floated in your poorly-screened window and taken root in your carpet, an unconscious violinist who has been plugged into your kidneys after your kidnapping by the Society of Music Lovers, and kittens whose brains have been injected with chemicals which will eventually give them human-like thought processes. It’s difficult to say which did my head in more. Though I have to say, Sleepless in Seattle is a bazillion times more infuriating than I remember! Like, the fact that Meg Ryan’s obsessive journey begins because she hears Tom Hanks on the radio once? Or the fact that the kid decides he wants Meg Ryan as his new mum because they like the same baseballer? Or that Tom Hanks is drawn to a woman whom he sleazily checked out in the airport and then saw almost get totalled by a semitrailer in the middle of the road? (Hint Tom, it’s not a Sign if you saw her while she was stalking you). Ugh, the movie is redeemable only because Meg Ryan is heart-meltingly cute with her pert nose and impish smile.
She’s also the only woman in the history of the world who looks adorable in bedsocks and a grey tracksuit and not like an amorphous fleece Beluga whale.
Anyway, this Meg Ryanminiscing (reminiscing about the golden days of late-80s/90s Meg Ryan movies) reminds me of another delightful NYE moment.
I hope you welcomed 2015 to the sound of Auld Lang Syne and an eloquent declaration of undying devotion.