There was a conversation today with Paul, a friend of mine, where he confessed that he couldn't really get excited about New Year's Eve and I agreed. In fact if I am really honest, I don't like it. There is something that always seems to me to be a little sad about the whole affair. There's the imperative to be celebrating, but I am never really sure what I am supposed to be jubilant about.
As a child, I didn't understand 'Auld Lang Syne' and the whole linking arms and shaking about is not comfortable when you are much smaller than your fellow revellers. Family lore recalls that the very first time I was allowed to stay up to see in the new year, I uttered the immortal phrase at 12:03 "Is that it?" and went to bed in disgust.
But this year, I read something (cannot recall where) but it struck me as very wise. It recommended that in the final days of the year's post-festive glow, we should think about letting go. Of all the disappointments and grudges and unkind feelings that have come with the year and enter into the new one, unburdened by them. And somehow that made the very best kind of sense to me. A bush fire of emotional leaf litter, leaving behind clear and fertile soil for things to come.
The cake is Nigella's clementine cake, which is a festive staple in these parts. Because eradicating all treats for a month of self-flagellating celery and lentils is not my style either.
Happy New Year!
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