Kerre Woodham: What's the big deal?

I hate New Year's Eve. Even the Millenium was a complete washout. We flew to Ireland and arrived in Dublin to find all the pubs closed because the publicans wouldn't pay the required wages. The best fireworks in the city were a closed shop that only corporate big wigs got to enjoy, and we ended up joining other Dubliners, prowling the streets looking for a good time, before cold rain and locked doors defeated us.

But I don't know why I expected the Millenium to be any different from any other boring old New Year. People prowl from bar to club to home, desperate to find the best party, the most fabulous people, the elusive good time. Desperation never makes for a great night.

The very best parties I've been to have come out of nowhere. A few people sitting around, having a few quiet wines, can turn into the best and most exciting night out.

A friend of mine ran into her good-time girlfriend at the local dairy one wet Wednesday years ago and it turned into one of the wildest nights of her life. No one knows when and where, and upon whom, the Piss Fairy will sprinkle his dust, but when he does, it's magic.

The whole New Year's Eve mania has passed me by. It's like being told by your father: "We're here now, and we are all going to have a good time, or there'll be hell to pay." Steely determination to have a good time or feel like a failure - where's the fun in that? I don't know what the New Year equivalent to a grinch is but I'm one of them.

Roll on 2006 and if you managed to have a good time last night, good on you. But I bet you're not having much fun this morning.