The hell with tradition — 10 Comments

  1. How odd. Missed out content entirely. Original post was:-
    “I wish that lot a barrel full of misery.”
    Likewise, but I wish them a barrel each, and issued daily.

    • I would have thought that was implicit.  And may they all suffer from Galloping Knob Rot.

  2. If you so desire ‘I wish you and yours a HappyNEW YEAR’.
    if you do not desire such a year, I hope you get such a year as you wish.

  3. Us lot in Scotland used to take Hogmanay seriously. Essentially that involved younger relatives and friends dropping in after midnight to celebrate the new year. And in my informative years they would bring a dram, a lump of coal and something nice to eat.
    Granny used to prepare for this with a spread of sandwiches, salty snacks and cake. Mostly she’d know who was coming and roughly what time, because this would go on until 3 in the morning.
    The VERY BIG issue was who’d first foot her. That mattered a great deal and that person got first crack at the grub. Granny never drank serious stuff though mum made up for that, however she did have mulled wine. Warm bordering on hot stuff and a whacking great soup ladle to dish it out, with bits of fruit in it.
    Of course the 3 o’clock curfew was a generally accepted protocol,  then it might carry on into the morning of the 1st when neighbours and folk she went to church with might drop in.
    I enjoyed those times because they’d put me to bed early so I could get up for midnight. I too was keen to see who’d be first through the door. I’d also get to sample whatever cakes they brought.
    Later I learned the very best 1st foot was a man with dark hair, which put the kibosh on me as I was a brilliant red head – as in damned near fluorescent. So when I became old enough to be a credible first foot, I’d wait until well past 1.00 on the first, or pop round after 9. And that lump of coal was a right bugger that, even wrapped in stacks of paper, still managed to make a right mess.
    Nuclear families, central heating and crap drink drive limits has taken its toll. Now younger people,  in Edinburgh at least, actually pay money to get to the centre of town. Air b&b people love the fact the whole thing spans 3 days.
    Now, were I to 1st foot you, I’d probably tell you I hope the coming year is better than 2018. That the sprog with the crap marriage doesn’t hassle you nor you have a repeat of that daftness about busted legs. However that wouldn’t extend to your buggy – nothing’ll change the fact it’s past its sell by date and may not even get through its road worthy test that, if memory serves, is quite soon.

    • I remember those happy times in a small country town.
      Before you were old enough to go to the pub you waited at home with the women and sober ones as they watched good TV programmes, (Were they good, or were we just easily pleased?) and prepared the feast. Then our own drinkers, male and female, came home to take on board food. No alcohol served in the home before “The Bells”. Then after 11 those that wanted to, mostly the young, single and fit, walked to the town cross, carrying the unopened bottle of spirits, aiming to be there by 11:30 to hear the music – pipers, brass, accordianist, whatever.
      30 seconds before midnight, silence, then the town clock started its rattle meaning that it was gearing up to chime. At the first bong, great cheers, Auld Lang Syne played and sung and cavorted to. Then bottles opened and shared with friend and stranger. And much hand-shaking and kissing. After every soul has been greeted and musicians on their way it was then a trek, with your friends round all your homes. All other night wanderers, stranger or not was greeted and toasted, and if appropriate, kissed.
      At each home visited the ritual was the same. Front door was left on the latch. All follow the friend whose home it is into the roasting be-fugged front room, be introduced to each of the horde that is in, offer your bottle to each and then place it on the table with all the rest, to be sampled by anybody. Cake, black-bun, clootie dumpling offered and taken. Singing, poetry (humerous, maybe bawdy) music and chatter. More “footers” arrive and to relieve the crush the bunch of friends move on to the next home, retrieving your bottle – and so on into the lightening dawn.
      The important points were that everybody was in their own home, and (fairly) sober, before venturing out for The Bells. Nothing was drunk from then until the midnight chime. The trek from home to home across a town and the cold ensured that from then on, although a lot was drunk nobody was outragious. And in your friends’ homes you did not disgrace yourself. Nobody worried if you were out for a night of two ( very few had phones) because friends looked after each other. 
      Happy times.
      One of the factors that ruined it was the extended pub opening hours, which kept the revellers trapped and prematurely sozzled and thus unable to do the “footing” trek as well as the home buddies getting fed up waiting for non-arriving visitors and going to bed.

      • When I was growing up, it was handshakes for the men and handshakes and kisses for the women. The last ‘new year’ party I was at, away from the usual bunch, I naturally attempted to kiss the women on the cheek as per, but they backed off. I’ve never considered myself to be particularly handsome, but it did dent my ego. It obviously wasn’t the done thing at this end of the A75 from you, if your nom de plume is as supposed. At least not in the company I was in – a mixed bunch of Scots, English and Ulster folk.But, I no longer celebrate it. Who says it’s a new year? Pagans from millennia ago, that’s who. I’ve never heard the atheists complaining about this intrusion of religion in public life or refusing to take their day off work. I did play loud music from just before the bells, but only so the dog wouldn’t hear the fireworks. Always fireworks these days, even on christmas day. It’s all a conspiracy by pagan pyrotechnic companies…

  4. Fine then. I therefor hope that the next 365 [and a quarter] days be as non-annoying as realistically possible. I wish that for myself as well but for some reason or other–I doubt it.I also send lots of good thoughts your way.

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