New Year's Eve

Imagine the M25 on the busiest day of the year.  All lanes are chock-a-block in both directions.  Now imagine the M25 squashed into a two lane road, barely 10m wide.  This is the road to the beach on New Year’s Eve.

We’d been warned by Dan that getting here from our hotel would be difficult - and getting back would be worse.  All his taxi friends are booked but with the help of the hotel we manage to get one.  The price is inflated, but then it would be tonight.  I won’t describe the drive - much like other taxi rides, but much more bad-tempered.

Dan wants us to join him and his friends for a firework party on the beach to see in the New Year.  "It will be spectacular" - a 5 mile stretch of beach with fireworks and bonfires as far as the eye can see. ‘Spectacular’ is one way to describe it; it turns out to be more like the D-Day Landings.

One of Dan’s friends - ‘Prince Harry’ (yup - ginger hair and beard) is in charge of the display.  It starts easily enough; a few sparklers, a couple of bangs and few rockets.  Some even manage to take off vertically.

The children get more and more excited, the ‘grown-ups’ drink more beer, the neighbouring groups put on bigger displays and it all gets a bit competitive.

Anniemay goes into teacher mode muttering ‘get those children away from the fireworks’.  I don’t know which children she means -  the ginger one lighting them or the little ones picking them up. 

Suddenly there’s an enormous BANG.  It’s about 10 minutes to midnight.  Up and down the beach people put down the sparklers and bring out the heavy artillery.  One explodes over my head, I'm showered in sparkly bits and I’m momentarily disoriented.  More BANGS.  

People mutter phrases like ‘war zone’.  It’s an uncomfortable analogy, but I understand what they mean and for a moment I think about what this must be like, without the pretty colours.

Cheers are heard as midnight comes and we all hug and wish each other a happy new year.  We leave the beach and make our way back to the rendezvous point to await our taxi.  He turns up at the appointed time, even more grumpy.  We race back to the hotel, at one point overtaking another taxi that’s overtaking a motor bike.  

We pay him and wish him a happy new year.  He softens a little “I’m late for church”  he says, by way of explanation.  At one point I thought we were going to be late.  As in, the late ….

Happy New Year Blippers.