How Not to Spend Your New Year’s Eve

If you’re planning on getting anything done on New Year’s Eve I recommend not having a son with an upset stomach, meaning you have to scrub three bathrooms from end to end.  I also recommend not trying to distract your children by throwing open the doors to the craft cupboard (argh! I was desperate) and dropping three paint boxes upside down on the hall floor, shattering most of the primary colours to dust all over the rug and skirting boards and floorboards.  After that just nixing the crafts altogether is a good idea unless you like scrubbing PVA glue mixed with feathers out of the grouting.

It has been an extraordinary long day, most of which I have spent staring at unidentified spatter patterns adorning various pieces of furniture and thinking: ‘This is the housework job I hate the most,’ until I move on to the next one, where I have a complete mental reassessment.  And so it goes.

We did take a break at the pub to have a late lunch, when I could not be bothered to shift enough of the feathers to prepare a lunch which would not contain 20% sequins and wool.  It was a disaster.  The children were allowed to order whatever they wanted.  Instead of ordering food that they actually liked, they decided to be experimental (which seems utterly insane to me).  This meant that the entire lunch was spent with them pullling faces, hiding bits of lettuce and generally acting up to the point where I threatened to have my lunch packed into a doggy bag and sit in the car with Tallulah as I couldn’t stand it any longer.

Tallulah has been spoiling for a fight all day.  She is having a badgering moment which involves her pecking away at everyone until they are tearing their hair out and ready to batter her. Then she cries.  It’s exhausting.  This morning it was all to do with her new computer thingy.  We fixed it.  Then it was to do with her new pink, voice activated safe.  We put batteries in it.  After that it was the fact that the battery on her camera had run out.  This did not get fixed as we were literally on our way out of the door when she started.  She has absolutely no sense of appropriate timing whatsoever. It is of course mandatory to interrupt you whilst you are on the toilet.  Or half way to your mouth with a spoonful of cereal, or banging your head repeatedly against the door for a bit of light relief.

In between she has staged a party for one of her bush baby toys. This involved asking everyone lots of questions about what they liked/wanted, and then doing the total opposite.  The crux came when she issued invitations, which her siblings bravely accepted.  She then spouted a ream of dos and donts that made the Nazi regime look positively flexible, to which they also meekly agreed.  After this she then announced that she thought Oscar would probably be uninvited because the bush baby in question wasn’t sure whether she liked him or not.  This said with a very beady eye and her head cocked on one side.  I shall use this in later years to illustrate the international language known as ‘how much trouble can I get you in now?’

Needless to say, the naughty step has been an ever present spectre at the feast all day, and I am on the verge of sitting on it myself, just for a bit of peace and quiet.

On the other hand, all of you who expressed horror at my taking down the Christmas tree early should rest easy. I have spent so long cleaning everything else and shouting at midgets, I haven’t had time.

Still we have a clean house.  I have cleaned all the old year’s filth to make a new and shiny path for the new year’s filth.  How appropriate and yet depressing.

We are not doing anything this evening.  New Year’s Eve is my least favourite event in the entire social calendar and always has been. I hate it.  I hate enforced recreation and nobody does enforced recreation as well as New Year’s Eve.  I do have a bottle of fizz chilling in the fridge, and I may be tempted to have a glass later. Not to celebrate the new year, but to celebrate the fact that the children are out for the count for another eight hours, which seems far more worthy of celebration to me.

This fizz is one of my great discoveries of the year.  It is sparkling red wine. Sounds vile I know.  But it is actually rather moreish.  We went round to some friends’ last week and she offered me a glass of ‘fizz’.  I accepted, as it is one of my life rules never to turn down champagne when offered, lest  it cause offence.  She waved a glass of what looked like aerated ribena under my nose and I had to accept it, lest it cause offence.  I was however, deeply sceptical.  It turned out to be quite delicious.  Rather like Corona Cherryade from when I was about eight and believed it to be the nectar of the gods.  In case you ever wish to try it, sparkling red, rather than Corona Cherryade which is sadly no longer with us, I recommend the Jacob’s Creek sparkling Shiraz. I mentioned it to my brother who was immediately indignant and said: ‘I told you that weeks ago.  It’s all the rage.’  So as usual, I am behind the times and in disgrace.  Still, after a couple of glasses I spect I shan’t mind at all.

And in the mean time, however you are spending your evening all the Boos proffer Oscar’s greeting: ‘Happy Pooh Year!’

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