Tag: new year’s eve

Seven, Eight

At the stroke of midnight I was walking with Morgan and Andy in the grassy bit behind Maclaurin Chapel at the university, talking about the benefits of protein bars (?!). In the distance people started cheering and fireworks started spewing out of the top of the Sky Tower, so I figured that 2007 had smudged into 2008.

Ol’ 2007 turned out to be quite a good year. As far as this goes, the thing I’m most pleased with was finally ditching LiveJournal and moving back to using WordPress on my own website. It’s a bit more work running things here, but I enjoy it.

So, yeah, that was fun. Let’s do it again this year.

2005 and all

It’s completely obscene to be up at 9am on New Year’s Day. I should be in bed, somewhere near a beach, asleep. I have to work today, and just like last year, I picked New Years Day over Christmas Day.

So yesterday I did the panel on National Radio. It was lots of fun. The show was well-structured and well-researched and Peter, James and I had lots of talk about. It’ll eventually show up on National’s website, so I’ll post it here when that shows up and you can hear me and Jon Bridges talk about how old skool I am. Word.

As far as a year in review thing goes, I’m reckoning this was the most popular thing I wrote last year. Poor Shel’.

This was my favourite day, hooray.

Last night I decided to throw a bit of effort in the way of New Years Eve and picked the closest celebratory place, Mt Eden. I got up to the roundabout where the summit road loop starts when I realised that I probably didn’t have enough time to make it to the summit before midnight, so I waited with a bunch of people halfway up.

The fireworks looked pretty good. I took some photos using the fireworks setting on my camera, but this is about the best of the bunch. I think I need a tripod.

“Ow, those were stink fireworks,” said a lady standing near me. I don’t know what she was expecting, but whatever she didn’t get, I did.

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.

Happy, New, Yeah.

The part of main street of Raglan had been closed off, turning the intersection of Bow Street and Wainui Road into a giant town square. The Raglan Hotel, at the centre of it all, shone its light over the streets, and provided the locals and visiting revellers with plenty of booze.

There was a stage set up down Wainui Road. The Hollow Grinders were playing when I arrived. Most of the audience were standing back from the stage, but there was a row of small children sitting along the front of the stage.

At the front left of the stage was a young lady dancing in front of the stage. She had the hugest arse I’ve ever seen. Ever. Imagine an overweight chick wearing a pair of stretch bootleg hipster pants and a stretch singlet that’s ridden up above her hips. Ok, now with that image, imagine what she’d look like if she’d had an inflatable ring pool toy implanted under the skin around her hips. Try and imagine how huge this would make her arse. Her bum stuck out so much that she could have put a row of beer bottles on it.

She had one dancing technique – she would put one or both of her hands up and gyrate her hips. Around and around her enormous bum rotated while her huge upper arms wobbled in unison. She seemed to only be able to manage about 30 seconds of dancing before she had to stop and rest, but it was enough to make people applaud. Conversations stopped, a few people threw coins in her directions, and other people joined her in front of the stage and danced.

The next band was called Slide, or something like that. They consisted of a drummer (who was also the evening’s organiser), a bass players and a didgeridoo/keyboard/saxophone player. They had formed the day before. They played three songs. The first two were jams, about eight minutes long each. Then they played a shorter song, that was about five minutes long. Actually, there may have been another song somewhere in there. Then the drummer/organiser made a speech thanking all the sponsors. While he was doing that, 11.59 became 00.00. A bit later he checked his watch and said happy new year and told everyone to have a party, as he apparently hadn’t been able to organise one himself. It was really disappointing. I mean, it’s not like there’s a shortage of good local bands who could have played there.

A few fireworks were let off, drunken people wandered the streets. Walking back to the car I heard a girl say, “Oh my God! I’m going to be 24 this year!”

“Ha,” I said to my brother. “I’m going to be 30!”