New Years truly is a load of arse.
John and I headed over to Southbank, with the music and the fireworks and the proposed merriment, and discovered that it was so utterly riddled with tarty slappers and teenage posers that we almost drowned in the toxic combination of Britney perfume and Lynx.
We saw the kiddies fireworks at 9:00pm which I actually quite liked. Highly unusual for me as I'm generally pretty blah about fireworks, having seen them at least three billion times since birth. Curse my privileged Paris Hilton-esque upbringing. Cough. We then discovered that there was absolutely nowhere to have a beer, and what is New Years without beer?
We left, and ended up squeezed into a booth in a poorly-lit pub in the Valley, peering out of the window and counting the number of girls who don't know how to get out of a taxi gracefully.
I.e. Hello underpants (or the lack thereof).
Only one girl ran around topless. Come on, people. Where is the partying spirit?
Let's face it. New Years Eve is one of the shittiest events of the year. There's too many people. There's too many drunk teenage girls shitting me off. There's vomit in the streets. There's drunks in the streets. The Doc Martens I hadn't worn in a month shredded my feet. By the time you get through the swarm of people at the bar, midnight has already been and bloody gone.
And as it ticks over to 2007, you have to tell yourself that your life isn't passing you by, and that tomorrow is just another day, rather than the beginning of yet another year which will inevitably fly by in a flash and leave you wondering exactly what have you achieved?
Sigh.
My major achievement was discovering that my camera has its very own setting dedicated to fireworks.
Hurrah!
As you can probably guess, I don't do New Years Resolutions, but the Fitness Kick that John and I are going on tomorrow coincides pretty well. Ages ago, I spoke to a Machu Picchu veteran who told me I would need at least two months of training to Not Die on the hike, so I took him at his word and decided I would attempt to exercise properly after Christmas. This also meant that I had a perfectly good excuse to be a lazy shit up until this point.
Alas, no more!
And it is pretty fantastic timing, given that I am about to explode from all of the Christmas Cheer. We need to rid the house of all of the rubbish food by the end of today, our last day of gorging.
John and I headed over to Southbank, with the music and the fireworks and the proposed merriment, and discovered that it was so utterly riddled with tarty slappers and teenage posers that we almost drowned in the toxic combination of Britney perfume and Lynx.
We saw the kiddies fireworks at 9:00pm which I actually quite liked. Highly unusual for me as I'm generally pretty blah about fireworks, having seen them at least three billion times since birth. Curse my privileged Paris Hilton-esque upbringing. Cough. We then discovered that there was absolutely nowhere to have a beer, and what is New Years without beer?
We left, and ended up squeezed into a booth in a poorly-lit pub in the Valley, peering out of the window and counting the number of girls who don't know how to get out of a taxi gracefully.
I.e. Hello underpants (or the lack thereof).
Only one girl ran around topless. Come on, people. Where is the partying spirit?
Let's face it. New Years Eve is one of the shittiest events of the year. There's too many people. There's too many drunk teenage girls shitting me off. There's vomit in the streets. There's drunks in the streets. The Doc Martens I hadn't worn in a month shredded my feet. By the time you get through the swarm of people at the bar, midnight has already been and bloody gone.
And as it ticks over to 2007, you have to tell yourself that your life isn't passing you by, and that tomorrow is just another day, rather than the beginning of yet another year which will inevitably fly by in a flash and leave you wondering exactly what have you achieved?
Sigh.
My major achievement was discovering that my camera has its very own setting dedicated to fireworks.
Hurrah!
As you can probably guess, I don't do New Years Resolutions, but the Fitness Kick that John and I are going on tomorrow coincides pretty well. Ages ago, I spoke to a Machu Picchu veteran who told me I would need at least two months of training to Not Die on the hike, so I took him at his word and decided I would attempt to exercise properly after Christmas. This also meant that I had a perfectly good excuse to be a lazy shit up until this point.
Alas, no more!
And it is pretty fantastic timing, given that I am about to explode from all of the Christmas Cheer. We need to rid the house of all of the rubbish food by the end of today, our last day of gorging.
- Half a tub of brandy custard
- Six litres of coke
- Thirteen small packets of chips
- Two pot noodles (No! I cannot give them up!)
- A box of Bulla frozen yoghurt bars
- Beers, a bottle of wine, a couple of Bundy & Cokes
- A shitload of butter
- Leftover Christmas chocolates
- A homemade Christmas pudding, large enough to feed the people of at least two third-world countries
- Cocktail frankfurts
posted by GBE at 4:07 pm
12 Comments:
GBE,
Your list of "forbidden foods" reads like a seige larder for a Weight Watchers revolt, (he, he, he,...but I am salivating reading it:))
Been to Disney World a couple of New Years eves where the fireworks are the big thing and frankly enjoyed the music they set them to more than the fireworks!
Since you and John are going on the "good food, good (albeit painful) exercise" program, I guess I can expect to see some really snarly posts over the next few weeks, and I guess we'll have to say a few prayers for miraculous rescue of anyone who offers you some chocolate or Guinness :)
Looking forward to another great year of your blog!
I feel sick...
oh the 'get fit' resolution is a KILLER!!
Keep the Bulla frozen yoghurt bars! You will something semi-healthy like that just in case you wanna break the diet.
I have started today too, and I nearly collapsed at the thought of walking home from the station.
By the end of March I wanna look Hot, Paris Hilton-esque-ish ;)
Wish me Luck.
happy freakin new year!
Hey, I wear Lynx...
I don't know much about preparing for hiking, but I think you need tough feet to avoid blisters. Last time I went I developed a blister so big it was like the entire sole of my foot had decided to go its own way - and that was after just two days. So, I dunno, walk around with bare feet a lot maybe. Or get some of those spiky massage sandals that turn your feet to leather.
Omg.. brandy custard? Yum! I say have it for a treat after working out every day.. ok.. maybe only after every other work out then.. but hey.. there's motivation!
I don't know what pot noodles are.. but you could have a little friendly party to eat up the leftovers w/ your friends and then you wouldn't feel guilty about it. OR just bring them into the office.. that's what I did w/ my leftover birthday cake. Seriously, gone in seconds.
Happy new year anyway!
Mr. Guinness, they try and make a big deal out of the music they set the fireworks to here, but it's always a big let down. Just Top 40 rubbish. And are you telling me that Guinness isn't allowed? I must protest!
Adam, would you like some pudding? Home made? Three kilos of puddingy goodness? Go on.
Miss Shroom, hello! Nice to meet another Brissie blogger, Jen and Adam from the blogroll are based here too, hurrah!
M, I guess the reassuring thing is that I only have to keep it up for the next six weeks (or so), and then I can live lardy overseas and return to my life of gluttony.
Rachel, you know what? We failed miserably in getting rid of the food, and I ended up eating one of the Bulla bars last night. I must now blame you, you realise. Paris Hilton is a bit too twiggy and snakey - I think go for the Kate Winslet shape. Gorgeous girl that she is.
Deb, you too, lovey!
Mark, see, now that's why I said the combo of Britney AND Lynx. John wears it sometimes too, and I think some of them smell tip-top and make me want to rip all of my clothes off and look sultry and pouty, as the ads do suggest. Your bare feet idea sounds good. It will complete my Hobo fashion statement. I think I will survive by asking if I can sit down a lot.
Michelle, but they taste so GOOD! Mm, monosodium glutamate, how I love thee. And well spotted! I honestly hadn't looked at her blog for quite a while - I wonder when she did that. I guess there's nothing further that we can do, but hopefully she won't do it again.
Miss Devylish, ashamed to say that we did have to throw the brandy custard out. It was starting to get a bit crusty and even I felt a bit queasy at the prospect of shovelling it into my gob with a spoon. And pot noodles are little styrofoam cups with dried noodles in them and a sachet of flavouring - you pour hot water into them, add the flavouring and VOILA. Unhealthy perfection.
ha ha! I bet you were wishing the Bulla was a Magnum :) Funny you said that, because I love Kate Winslet's figure.
Nobody can blame you for trying! Although your thighs will scream in protest once you start exercising. And the list of "naughty foods" you've been eating will flash through your head until you're ready to kill the heifers who dared bring it/buy it/make it in the first place.
Not that I would know or anything! (haha)
Rachel, I love chocolate, but I seem to prefer the fruity ones when it comes to ice creamy things, so I think I would've liked it to be a Weis bar most of all. Mmmmmmmm.
Princess, I think my thighs need a good scream. They've been sitting around all lazy-like for too long. I really would like something sweet though. I don't see what harm a little cake can do??
If there's something which overhead music or music in general has in common, it's the fact that they both set the mood for any occasion.
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