Was It Good For You?

Well, having survived National Drunk Blogging Day (see previous two posts), it's about time to shove 2006 into the box marked "Used Years" and kick the bugger out of sight under the bed.

Looking back through my diary, I see that I spent ninety-eight percent of this year's waking hours stuck on a train and the rest either at work or grumpy. A pretty good year then, all in all …

The one thing I did do, in August, along with Robyn and Sassy and Old Knudsen and Rich, is start a blog.
So Happy New Year to all my blogpals!

There. That's got the jollity out of the way. Now for some New Year's resolutions:
I rather liked Danæ's resolution in "Non Sequitur" (there's a link on Sassy's blog):
From memory it went something like: "Try not to improve on perfection", though I think that's more a Sassy resolution than a Dive one.
As for what to "resolve"; I don't smoke, I eat a ridiculously healthy diet, I get plenty of excercise, I have a great job which I love, I have spiffy - if somewhat strange - friends, I'm cute … what the fuck is there left to change?

Right. Here goes nothing:

In 2007, I resolve to:

- Be less of a miserable old bugger;
- Stop kicking children in supermarkets;
- Get a girlfriend (Hah!);
- Keep blogging;
- Keep getting 100 percent in my Japanese exams;
- Take up a new hobby; maybe macramé, caravanning or puffin-frottage.
- Eat a dolphin;

Ah, fuck it. I'll probably keep blogging but the rest of it doesn't stand a monkey's.
I suppose I could always start smoking and eat junk food to give me something to "resolve" next year, but I really can't be arsed.
In reality, the only resolutions I'm likely to keep are:

- Offend people;
- Swing wildly between black misery and overexcited childishness, with nothing in between;
- Spend more time stuck on trains;

The one thing I shall NOT be doing is going out tonight.
Between the ages of nine and forty-five, I spent every single Old Year's Night on stage and believe me, there's no better aversion therapy than that.
Here's a typical Old Year's Night for Old Dive:

Stay sober all day, then eat a high carb meal around three o'clock (just when you're not hungry).
Pack all the gear up and drive to the studio (or wherever, depending on the year). Unpack all the gear and load it into the truck/van/bus.
Drive to some posh fucking hotel.
Set up all the gear and soundcheck everything (including such immeasurable joys as listening to the drummer hit the snare drum once a second for five minutes while Rod gets the fucking levels right).
Sit in some miserable fucking hotel room, stone cold sober, munching crap snacks and drinking crap hotel coffee and watching suicidally dire crap TV until eleven pm, by which time we are all ready to kill someone and wired from all the caffeine.
Get changed into fucking dickie bows.
Go on stage and play (SOBER) until three in the fucking morning, sometimes backing some fucking washed-up chart has-been who thinks they're God, all the while having to stare at disgusting fucking drunks who are ripped to the tits, pawing and slobbering over equally pissed pretty girls, trying pathetically to dance and falling all over the monitor speakers (I hate you all forever).
Pull fucking party poppers off hot amps before they catch fire.
Smile (the worst bit of all).
Make our miserable fucking way back upstairs and change again, then wait for the drunks to piss off before spending a soul-destroying hour breaking down all the gear and packing it away.
Drive back to the studio, soberly waving at all the traffic police who are just as fucking miserable at having to work all night on the set of "Night Of The Living Drunks".
Repack all the stuff in our cars.
Drive home, sober and homicidal at breakfast time vowing NEVER to do it again.
(er … I'm not sounding just a teensy bit bitter here, am I? … Yes? … Good!) …

Much to the falling-over amazement of all my session musician buddies (I'll think of your suffering as I snuggle into my pillow, you poor sods), I made a break for it at forty-six and have been on the run ever since, refusing all offers, no matter how desperate and cash-laden they have been (and they have been).
The upshot of which is that for the past two years, my Old Year's Nights have been blissfully relaxing and I've been asleep well before midnight.
Tonight I will be doing the same again. I'll watch a DVD after dinner, then take a book and a scotch to bed around ten. Ahhh … bliss …
So enjoy your drunken revelries one and all. You're more than welcome to them.

Happy New Year everyone!

Duck! Here comes 2007!