Happy New Year to you, of course

It was always going to happen. You get taught how to do sabrage, so when New Year's Day arrives with its various bottles of bubbly, who could resist showing off with the big kitchen knife and an audience? Not me, that's for sure. (The secret is in the realignment of the wire.) It was time to see off the sundry gift bottles of wine dutifully brought home from the hotels I stayed in last year, when sisters came round with, amongst other entertainments, stories of horrendously un-PC teachers at Mairehau High School (totally the reason why I went to Avonside GHS - and encountered pretty much the same there. Times have changed SO much!) as well as family put-downs and complaints about the sunshine and the furniture.

Suffice it to say, the table on the deck was moved out of the sun twice and into it once, three of the NINETEEN year-old director's chairs (one of which I mended only today) finally succumbed to wear, one 21 year-old champagne flute was broken (mea culpa), real Roquefort and Brie were eaten, a dozen freshly-caught snapper were filleted on the lawn, and two visiting dogs drank from the bowl that was dearly-departed Fudge's most precious possession. Agreement was reached that instead of waiting for Twelfth Night, it was much more Kiwi and appropriate to have a NY Eve party at which marshmallows were toasted  in the back garden over the blazing remains of the Christmas tree. Altogether, it was a cheerful beginning to what I, and everyone else, hope will be a better year than last.

And travel connections? Well, TV footage tonight, viewed one-eyed (as is this post - you wouldn't believe the back-spacing) of midnight fireworks from Sydney, Myanmar, New York, Shanghai, Dubai, London and Paris. Tick, tick, etc. The Burj Khalifa looked very splendid swathed in smoke and sparks, and the Eye, and the Eiffel Tower. One day I would like to spend New Year's Eve in Sydney where they have the ideal set-up for a wonderfully show-off fireworks display. Auckland has the same props, but lacks the $8 million disposable income to squander on 20 minutes (sadly, the maximum period of time that flibbertigibbet people are prepared to devote to appreciating money literally going up in smoke) of upscale sparklers and bangers. As I say, one day...