a new standard

First New Year's Eve in London. Brilliant. Was a bit worried as we hadn't made any plans, even rued the decision to remain on the island for the festivities. But it turned out perfectly, perhaps because it was totally off the cuff, unscripted. No expectations.

It began with Glenfiddich and Moet, snuggled next to a gas heater on a veranda overlooking Covent Garden. After some momentary wavering, we decided to brave the crowds. Descending the streets, we saw a sea of people on the Strand, slowly but surely flowing east, towards Waterloo bridge. We formed a human chain and squirreled through the openings, scrambled over partitions, and threw a few elbows, somehow managing to land up in the middle of Waterloo bridge. The collective anticipation of the masses was euphoric. We hopped around, drinking mulled wine and Jack and munching on homemade mince pies while rattling off our resolutions for the year. I had a prime vantage point, perched on Wonderwoman's shoulders, and stared at the fireworks launched from the London Eye with my mouth open. After a pit stop at Wonderwoman's office and the devastating loss of my favourite hat (I blame the Jack), we slipped into Kabaret for an acceptable cover and danced madly to the RnB mix. The night may have been cut short a tad early for my tastes, but then, perhaps events wouldn't have unfolded as auspiciously had we stayed. Walking home this afternoon, I had a grin plastered to my face. The bar for New Year's has been raised.