I always feel uneasy about New Years Eve - it seems to be such a significant festival, worthy of wild feasts or austere ceremony - I think of shaggy haired shamans, standing motionless within stone circles, of cathedrals filled with candlelight -
Too often, though, I have cowered before Jools Holland's Hootenanny - I spent the Millennium, skulking on the sofa, laid low by a bad cold -
This year, we went to Trafalgar Square - we went the year before - the year before that, Jay invited us to Percy Agget's house - there was music - musicians from King Toadfish and the All-Weather Riders played bold songs - Jay was on keyboards - I met Frances - she writes spare beautiful poetry - later, she sent me her book of poems, Myne -
We caught the Number 8 bus to Holborn, glorying in our top deck seats - two black girls whooped and drew hearts on the steamed up windows - two young men in multi coloured suits got off at Shoreditch with their chic gang -
Our route took us through The City, past glass towers, through the dark canyons between sombre banks - I heard the hissing of reptiles as I passed - I looked out and saw St Pauls - the splendid floodlit dome caught my eye -
We walked under brilliant electric stars in Convent Garden - cycle rickshaws carried tipsy girls - as we approached Trafalgar Square, we heard the noise of an immense crowd - Metropolitan Police in high vis jackets lined the steps of St Martins in the Fields -
As midnight approached, the crowd swelled in size like a vast stirring animal - it started to rain - fat icy raindrops fell upon our rugs - we spoke to a man from Toronto - have you heard of our wife beating, coke sniffing, mayor?
At midnight, there was a roar from the crowd - fireworks blazed across the sky - the streets echoed with the sound of the joyous explosions -
I felt, all around me, the barely constrained power of the crowd - I imagined it rising up, like a noble tide, sweeping away all hideous injustices -
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