Twenty or thirty years from now, when I look back on New Year’s 2010, I hope I remember the cockroaches. The big nasty ones lying dead on their backs under the stairs and stuck in the drain in the kitchen sink. Also the mouse droppings, the stacks of dirty dishes, the beer bottles and ashtrays. The filth and the squalor. I hope it’s at the back of my mind every time I want to leave the dishes till morning, wipe crumbs onto the floor or put off vacuuming till next weekend.

I hope I remember the vomit that flowed freely through the streets on New Year’s Eve, and I hope I remember it without cringing and more accurately as occurring in four discrete spots. I hope that in twenty years, puke puts less of the panic into me than it does now.

I hope I remember the feet, Toepocalypse and Thong Tan, and I hope I will have learned to sunscreen my feet and not hike in flip-flops.

And above all, I hope I remember that I welcomed in 2010 with more sunshine than rain, beaches real and fake, Mars bar ice cream, dolphin sightings, a running tally of hippie vans and bacon four breakfasts in a row.


Welcome to 2010, Internet.