We ended up having the new year's countdown in the car en route to the party in Clontarf, so in the absence of two dozen people to hug and kiss I stuck my head out the window and yelled "HAPPY NEW YEAR!" and threw rocks at all the drunken street celebrators. THEY THINK THEY CAN HAVE FUN WITH NO CONSEQUENCES.

We tumbled into the sack at 5am, laying the foundations for inevitaby missing our 9am breakfast date with Ange. Well done us: loyal friends extraordinaire.

To my misfortune, I am spending this stormy, dark January 1st watching premiership fotball with my husband. I could cry for Everton. The poor bastards are being thrashed 5-1 by the evil and oddly named Tottenham Hotspur. That'll be a self esteem booster! We can look forward to a ream of C-list celebrity mid-winter suicides in the coming weeks. Let's keep those statistics up, boys!

James McFadden just scored a goal for Everton - GOE YOU HAPLESS SCOT.

Here's a little ditty to keep you entertained for a moment or two. Also this might provide a brief relief from the hell that is your life. You poor orphan. Nobody loves you, do they? No. Nobody. And with your luck, no-one ever will, you ugly bastard.

I want tapioca and nobody is going to stop me from getting some.

neuro-praxis -- Gone A Bit Cuckoo, What With The New Disease