New Year's Eve and the New Year is upon us

New Year's Eve, the lull before the celebration

It's New Year's Eve. Hooray! We've made it. We've done it. It's time to wake up Uncle Ted from his mid- morning slumber. Time to wake up Auntie Nelly from her mid- morning snooze. In fact the whole family should be in the midst of a post- kip planning committee. Now how many packets of crisps, boxes of chocolate biscuits, savouries, dainty sandwiches and lager have we got now?

I think you'll find that's the entire contents of Sainsbury's shelves, half of Asda, a considerable portion from Morrisons and not forgetting several lorryloads of booze from the Tesco Metro. Oh what a blissful evening it's going to be in Acacia Avenue. I think we ought to invite the whole neighbourhood. New Year's Eve hey? I think we ought to do this every day of the week and end up with nothing in the bank. But then that would be unforgivably stupid and senseless so best stick to New Year's Eve when it comes to parties and besides it's only once a year so let's throw caution to the wind.

You know what day it is today. It's the New Year's Honours list and guess who's been bestowed with the greatest of all honours. Well, there's Jessica Ennis Hill, undoubtedly one of the finest and most agile Olympian long jumpers in the history of the Olympic Games. Jessica almost jumped right out of the sand pit at the London Olympic Games of 2012 and promptly wrote her name in the record books. Jessica Ennis Hill is thoroughly deserving of her award. Dame Jessica Ennis Hill. It sounds almost ludicrously pompous and the kind of recognition you'd give to an ageing aristocrat or an elderly dowager on a country estate. And yet in the context of Jessica Ennis Hill's career I'm sure allowances can be made.

And now for the rest of the best. There's the delightfully snobbish and very haughty Hyacinth Bouquet(aka) Patricia Routledge, a lady of style, class and breeding. Patricia has been adorning stage and screen  for a number of years now and none have merited the distinction of Dame quite so much.

Wait for it. Roll the drums and blow the bugles. Next up is one of Britain's most enduring of all rock icons. For the best part of almost five decades Ray Davies has produced some of the greatest and most entertaining pop music lyrics ever heard. Davies takes us on another nostalgic trip down memory lane, a man who came to both represent and embrace the sound of the 1960s,

There was the charmingly lyrical Waterloo Sunset, a song that painted the most ornate of all landscapes and particularly London. Davies and the Kinks were, at times, almost inseparable and the music was both rich in meaning and stylish in its execution. Davies told us stories from his heart, the pain and anguish of growing up, the ups and downs, peaks and troughs of a colourful career,  the whole panorama of his life, his relationships, the dubious agents and not forgetting those who were both loyal and distrustful.

My wife and I went to Sunny Afternoon, a classical West End musical that was just stunningly good and simply outstanding. Sunny Afternoon took us on a helter skelter journey through the life of Ray Davies, the initially supportive family and then the family who just seemingly dumped him when the chips were down.


Ray Davies, then quite wondrously, left one song to the very end when I thought he'd forgotten all about it Lola was a prostitute, a woman of the night and somebody who came to be immortalised in a Kinks song. It was a belter of a song, a real diamond of a ditty, a rousing, stirring song that always sounded like a good night out pub song. Lola had most, if not all of the audience, on their feet. The words  were blasted out, echoing around our West End theatre and then rebounding off the walls and ceilings with certainty and conviction.

And now it's time to be upstanding for a showbiz legend. Arise Sir Ken Dodd. No. It's absolutely true. The merriment maker from Liverpool Ken Dodd is now Sir Ken Dodd. Who saw that coming? Well on reflection it almost seems right and proper. For as long as any of us can remember Ken Dodd has been the master of the chuckle, the gag meister, the laugh out loud practitioner, the joking jester, the amusing anecdotalist and a man who never really felt comfortable with the controversial or provocative.

While the likes of Dave Allen were dipping their toes into the contentious world of religion, Dodd easily steered himself away from the blue gags, the jokes that didn't really border on blasphemy and just left us laughing all the way into tomorrow, next month and next year. Dodd invented Notty Ash and the Jam Butty mines, the tickling stick and the fantastic Diddy Men. Dodd extolled the virtues of happiness and had no time for the crude vulgarity. Dodd still performs at the age of 89 because he loves the roar of the crowd, the audience laughter, the thrill of the magical joke perfectly timed and delivered.

Some of us may mock Sir Ken Dodd but perhaps they should know better. Any man who can stroll onto a holiday camp stage at 8pm and still be there at 1.00 in the morning has to be commended. Of course the jokes are corny and medieval but that's why we love Sir Ken Dodd. I think Sir Ken Dodd should accept the sword from Her Majesty the Queen in dignified fashion and sail off into the sunset with a beaming grin on his face. Congrats Sir Ken Dodd, A national treasure, a giant of a comic.

Finally, take a bow Andy Murray. Yes, what a result! What a sportsman! For well over 70 years now British tennis has been praying every night for a player who could single-handledly transform the fortunes of his country's tennis. They've all come and gone. Tim Henman, Buster Mottram, John Lloyd and all of those other worthy pretenders to the throne. Now Andy Murray has just won an even bigger prize and no amount of praise may ever be good enough. The tributes are so fitting.

But now it's Sir Andy Murray. What about that? Murray is no revolutionary, nor is he the saviour of the world but none deserve the ultimate in all Establishment acknowledgment. Andy Murray will wander around his house with wife Kim and his new daughter, smiling from ear to ear because here was a man who stopped the rot, who kicked back all of the sporting boundaries into touch and never flinched when the going got tough.

 Murray is driven, powerful, aggressive, ruthless, clinical and wonderfully dismissive of his opponent. Murray plays every game of tennis with the full burners on, a total and disdainful swipe of the racket. At Wimbledon he did it again. He picked up his second Wimbledon's men singles title because he just had to prove that his first Wimbledon was no mere fluke.

By several country miles Murray has now established himself as the best tennis player has ever produced. True Fred Perry did set the precedent back in the 1930s but now Murray has all the trappings of greatness. Murray, is fully pumped up and motivated, a player who tells himself off quite strongly at every imperfection, chastises himself when vital points are lost and then roars with self reproach when a match is lost.

Murray is the perfectionist, a player with all of the applicable forehand returns and passing winners down the line, a player of impeccable technique and flair. The backhand remains his most devastating and dangerous weapon, the cross court shots fluently effortless and the Murray serve can still remind you of a firing range. I think we should all take our hat off to Sir Andy Murray because I can think of nobody who has fully restored our faith in British tennis. Congrats Sir Andy.

So there you have it folks. The Sirs, Dames, OBE's, MBE's have been handed out. There were the famous and not so famous, the community leaders, the diligent and tireless voluntary workers, the men and women who modestly took the applause and plaudits. With only several hours to the end of 2016 you may be blowing up the New Year's Eve balloons, finishing off the vol au vents, shaking the crisps and nuts into their respective bowls and then dusting off our beloved vinyl LPs. But before I go, let's all be good and kind to each other and may mankind never even think of brandishing a gun or bomb. I think it's time for a year of peace and goodwill. Not much to ask for surely. Have a good one folks and don't forget. It's a beautiful world and Louis Armstrong was absolutely right.