Take it away, Ringo.
My personal strategy for coping with the stressful demands of welcoming a new year is to be fast asleep in my own bed when the clock strikes midnight.
Judas Priest is fine by me, but “living after midnight, rocking to the dawn” no longer tops my list of objectives. But to each their own. Those of you who wish to be nocturnal about it, fine and dandy, and I’ll crawl off somewhere to nurse a glass of Tawny Port within pillow’s reach, thereby keeping my car off the road.
I’d be falling asleep at midnight, anyway.
Having divulged my prejudices in favor of early-to-bed (day) drinking, here’s the flip side: During the entire tangled history of marketing, I’ve seldom been targeted quite as effectively as with the relatively newfangled notion of celebrating New Year’s Eve on European time.
The ball dropping at 6 or 7:00 p.m.? Absolutely brilliant, and right down the middle of the plate in my world.
In a parallel universe, at a stage where going out for the evening still mattered to me, here’s where I’d be tonight: Holy Grale, for New Year’s Eve in Switzerland.
It isn’t exactly a novel thought, seeing as I should be going to Holy Grale far more often than I do, holidays or otherwise, because it’s absolutely top of the chart for beer lovers in these parts.
Sounds to me like a resolution for 2025. Someone please hold me to it.
