I always hated New Years Eve, but when I was young I went on the razzle as I thought that’s what you did.
Remember walking into a pub just before midnight in 79 and my mate saying it was extra special as it was a new decade. Ironically by the time it was a new century I couldn’t give a monkeys and I stayed in as I did for over ten years before that and every New Year’s Eve since.
Not long after 79 you could no longer be just stroll into a pub before midnight as they began to lock people out unless they weren’t already there hours before.
Remember one year in the early 80’s me and my mates trudging from one pub to another trying in vain to get in somewhere. It was after that I thought fuck this for a game of soldiers and preferred to stay in with my mummy.

However, my most memorable New Years Eve was undoubtedly 84 when I finally got off with who I thought was going to be THE ONE.

It had been building up since August and she’d pleaded with me the week before to come to a Xmas Eve function. However Xmas Day was my mother’s birthday and only her second without my dad, so like a dutiful son I stayed in with her.

However the following week I couldn’t resist the promise of a potential attractive girlfriend and after some heavenly early hours passion on New Years Day began my only proper relationship.

Had a few brief flings but nothing as substantial and not with anyone I fancied as much.
If I’d only known it was going to be two and a bit years of torment, tears and tantrums (the last 2 mainly from me, the first mainly from her!)
Xmas Eve 86 I left her in a telephone box phoning her dad after our latest fight (no mobiles then). The relationship limped on for another three months before she dumped me very slowly (which was worse than a quick clean break.)
Within less than two years she’d married someone else and I’d turned to becoming an increasingly regular punter.
Ah, the festive season! I suppose it shaped the rest of my emotional life.
