Thursday 31st December 2020

The last day of 2020.

New Year's Eve.

Again, let's hope the new year will be better than the old one.

For the last day of the year, well, we did little.

And why not?

We woke at half seven as dawn was creeping over the land, a heavy hoar frost lay on the land, cars on the street were all white and overed in crazy patterns. This I noticed when putting out the bins, what with it being a Thursday. Once in, Jools asked if there was a collection as few other had put their bins out. I checked the information sheet and found that next collection was New Year's Day, so no day of rest for them.

I went up to collect the bin.

We had bacon butties for breakfast.

And fresh brews.

Outside the garden was full of feathered life as the brds came to our garden to feed.

I wrote blogs, posted them with pictures, watched the latest episode of Only Connect, there is one every day this week, so good news.

And at lunch we have a slice of Christmas Dundee Cake.

We listen to music until the afternoon fades, then drive to Jen's to see in the New Year.

The roads were quiet, very quiet, but with trucks waiting at the lay by on the A2, I hope they get back to Europe OK in the morning.

We arrive at Jen's, and due to a timer issue on her heating, the house is cold other than in the living room where she has a gas fire, so we clear her half finished jigsaw off the table and set up the Uchers board, and we play another game, with Jen winning.

We have dinner: a buffet of prawns, Bombay potatoes, bread, pickles, potato and egg salad, cheese and crackers. And wine.

Then it is the card marathon, the usual games. We play to an Ella Fitzgerald soundtack for a while, then put Radio 2 on, and they have a dico themed night of music, ending with some hyper-American lady who was clearly on something.

At half eleven, Jen scoopes the jackpot, so we retire to the living room to watch Piano Blokey doing his socially distanced Hootananny. Tome Jones is 80, and yet belts out songs like he was still in his 20s, though his skin is the colour of varnished teak, if we could all sound and look so good at 80 then we'd have done well.

Midnight comes and we cheer, toast ourselves, hug, and I have to carry a lump of coal and a mince pie across the doorstep to signify something or the other.

We say goodnight to Jen, drive home through the freezing mist, along deserted roads to home, where the houseparty next door was just winding down.

We go to bed, but thanks to the wine, I hear nothing.