Anti-climax

And so today came. What a difference 24 hours can make. Snippets flow to the surface, I find a different face without realising it. One calls me an angel, the other compares me to men at, ironically, my most vulnerable point, and all of a sudden, not one, but several people are suddenly calling me by the name only my family uses for me. She calls me baby, he calls me loca. Who's right?

I woke up to find the moon bright and high - what a gut-wrenching experience after 4 weeks of holiday tempo. The boss called me into the office for a chat, the second chat of this type in the last few weeks. I guess I'm playing the game I despise so much better than I thought, he even mentioned 'face' in the oddest context. Signs are everywhere and the conversations I have with myself these days are shocking. I always have premonitions about the year to come...and I'm usually right. Despite the pleasure that the new year brought, I knew it already; this one is going to be difficult.

Not bad, just difficult. Growing pains.

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.