I'm Trapped

Its about 11:56pm and I'm feeling thoroughly miserable, it's a thoroughly miserable end to a couple of miserable emotionally tumultuous months. The fire is roaring downstairs and I can hear a half-decent Beatles tribute band playing at a private party at the Bridge but I'm stuck in doors alone watching horizontal sleet tear up and down New Road. It's too cold and miserable even to be in Manchester but I don't know any one doing MCR tonight anyway. Nobody seems to be in the mood for doing much this New Year night in truth and I can almost feel a bad year coming on. I dislike even numbered years at the best of times but particularly those with the profoundly unlucky number four in them, didn't Nostradamus say that this was the year when we were all going to get blown up? There is an asteroid coming! The AQ boys are regrouping with secret nukes in suitcases! Ah ah ah! Actually, I'm a more of your common or garden seven, threes, and nines, kind of a guy. Turning forty this month is already doing my head in, and I'm feeling a kind of dull sadness for the recession of those softly mature yet sexily youthful and profoundly contented thirties. Thirty is a nice yellow sunny number but forty is a horrible blue-grey job a sensible square vinegar and brown paper number.

Its just turned 12 mid night...Happy New Year! Someone is walking up and down at the back of me ringing a hand bell, presumably to ring in the New Year...only in Prestbury ah! A barrage of fireworks seems to have erupted around Macclesfield...steady on boy, I seem to be veering into an inebriated stream of consciousness mode here and I'm no Virginia Woolf.