Once upon a distant time, Decent Brother and I would go out and have a few beers on New Year's Eve; other years, I would see in the New Year with my parents (and the inevitable glass of wine, my father staying up to greet my mother and I with a Near Year's warm hug and kiss before heading cheerfully off to bed, in order to be up, bright eyed and bushy tailed, unnaturally sprightly, to watch the Viennese New Year's Concert the following morning).
And then, there were the years - quite a few - when I saw in the New Year with colleagues while working or deployed abroad.
And now, I am at home, a bottle of wine to hand, seeing in what is - to my surprise - a third consecutive New Year where a house that once rocked to the joyful sound of shared laughter - laughter with, not laughter at - is silent except for the classical music I am listening to.
Happy New Year.