Bedtime

I still believe in the romance of New Year’s Eve, of something magical happening at the stroke of midnight.

But, in a most unromantic twist, I’m doing something this New Year’s Eve that I’ve never ever done before; I’m spending New Year’s Eve entirely on my own.

It sounds horrible, but it’s not. It’s actually just like any ordinary evening. It helps that I had to work today and that I’m working tomorrow. If I put my iPod on and turn up the volume, I can drown out the music, fireworks and cries of merriment from others.

O, lonely moon, etc.

I had a walk around town after work tonight. There was an odd atmosphere, with people scattered about town with collection buckets for tsunami aid and the usual blend of semi-pissed revellers. “Eh, Osama. Good one, Osama,” slurred a fellow to a Sri Lankan collector.

I noticed that ponchos are very common at the moment. There are some that appear to be made from a cheapish-looking nylon material. I think, as a general rule of co-ordination, that it is not advisable to wear an item of clothing that is as lank and stringy as one’s own hair.

I also noticed that I don’t own a poncho. This is probably because I’d end up looking like an old gran in a shawl if I attempted to sport one.

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