Happy 2018 everybody.

Happy 2018 yesterday.

So you've cleared up the rubbish from the wild New Year's Eve party, tidied up the wreckage and debris from the night before, waded through a  minefield of alcoholic bottles and cans, searched the entire living room for the the moth eaten remnants of half eaten cakes and biscuits and then burst a couple of balloons just in case some of them hadn't been popped. The floor is a complete mess, a muddled melange of torn paper mache streamers, whistles, crumbs and more paper. In fact the whole room is the very picture of chaotic carnage.

But hold on Happy New Year everybody. You're bleary eyed, completely detached from the world outside and wondering what to do next because your family and friends have now gone home, there's no bread and milk, the kitchen looks as though it's been hit by a bulldozer and the dogs are desperate for a walk. Still the whole year now stretches in front of us and it's time for yet another compilation of those New Year's resolutions that we keep breaking in the second week of January. Maybe it seemed a good idea at the time.

Here we go again. It's time to sign up for our perennial updating of our gym subscriptions and that punishing regime of furious bike pedalling, rowing, and the even more demanding activity of pulling those weights. Then it's off to the running machine before eventually cooling down significantly in the sauna while in front of you daytime TV or music videos keep you fully entertained.

January is not only the first day of the month, it can be almost as stressful as Christmas. The problem with January is that seems to go on for ages and by the time you've got to the end of the month you're just relieved to be in one piece. You've now confronted with those endless pieces of well intentioned advice; get fit, keep fit, exercise constantly, keep moving, jump up and down on a trampoline, don't eat carrots on Tuesdays and Thursdays, cut out those carbs, drink grape juice on Monday mornings and whatever you do, don't wake up in the mornings on the right side opposed to the left side because you might catch a cold. It's all very wearying isn't it? And yet we keep promising to do all of these apparently trivial things. It's got to be good for us.

For the whole of January some of the most eminent of dieticians and nutritionists tell us repeatedly that chocolate is bad for you, alcohol can have terrifying consequences, and drugs are just killers. Tell us something that we didn't know. Here are all of those dreadful vices that most of us sheepishly admit to and every year we fall for the same con trick. But it was New Year's Eve and you've got to see the old year out in style. We know for a fact that drinking can just kill off the liver and then the heart, that overeating can't have any long term benefits because if we subject ourselves to pizzas and fish and chips every night of the week the waistline will keep expanding, the midriff will show signs of a very visible tyre and you can't be doing yourself any favours.

So it is that the doctor gives you some very salutary warnings, a bottle of pills and tubes of cream and if they don't do the trick then you've got to face the music. It's time to pull on that track suit and trousers, limber up briskly and then pound the pavements. It gets the heart beating, it's utterly stimulating and sends those reluctant endorphins into outer space. You complete your exercise exhausted, grateful for the sofa but feeling good about life. Perhaps we'll do this more regularly.

In recent years or the whole issue of fitness and exercise has more or less dominated the news agenda. Obesity and being overweight has now become a 24/7 preoccupation and most of us are more aware than ever that no good can come from stuffing ourselves with a hundred bars of Dairy Milk chocolate, a jar of boiled sweets and innumerable helpings of cholesterol  that just clog up the arteries. It all sounds horribly forbidden and the kind of guilty pleasures you can do without.

We do though love our food and surely there can be no harm in just one more box of Milk Tray, another final bag of crisps and those savoury pies that are just irresistible. Just one more week of moderate eating and drinking. It is after all the New Year and besides there can be no point in wasting food. It's got to be eaten so here goes. Then the mind tells us that this is very damaging to our health and before we know it we're back at the doctors with strained muscles and ligaments, feeling very poorly and wishing it was spring and summer.

Outside in the big wide world there is still an eerie dreariness in the air. There seems to be little in the way of traffic on the road and even the advertising hoardings in Manor House look a bit sad and neglected. The hairdressers is beginning to look much busier and the profits are gradually rolling in again slowly but surely. This is a case of wiping the slate clean and starting out on the road for commercial good health and prosperity.

Yesterday my wife and I ventured out to the New Year's Day parade in the heart of London. Personally it was something of  a relief because neither of us had got out at all for the best part of a week. This was my first New Year's Day parade so this was my initiation into the delights of a New Years Day celebration. Pleasingly, it lived up to all my expectations although none of us had any if truth be told.

We walked down towards the House of Commons, wending our way towards Victoria before finally ending up in front of the House of Commons. Once again London had excelled itself with its splendid  sense of occasion and a street carnival full of the siesta party mode. It was hard to tell though where the parade was going. We both felt that this was one street party that had lost its way. We kept wandering our way down a long, meandering street not sure where we were going but convinced it was worth it all.

Suddenly the floats appeared. There was the most stunning steam engine complete with all the Victorian trappings, groups of youngsters running down the street in smart costume and then the fun started. It was time to do some good old fashioned cheering and supporting a good cause. It was time to herald the New Year with whole hearted vengeance.

We met a friendly family from California and we all know how the Americans love to celebrate. They were telling us that they were over here for Christmas and were intent on taking in all of those great British attractions. They were thrilled to see Big Ben but were disappointed to find out that poor old Big Ben would not be chiming again for a number of years so we smiled knowingly and wished each other's seasons greetings. I broached the subject of American politicians and Donald Trump. I looked at him and the body language became obvious. I'm not sure what was going through his mind but I do know that he was gently philosophical and didn't really care one way or the other.

Now it was time for a particularly eye catching troop of motor cycle stunt riders to make themselves known to all and sundry. Suddenly, the pavements were alive to the sound of motor cycle stunt riders, roaring their engines and blasting out the most strident message to the rest of the West End. Then they pressed down hard on their pedals and thick clouds of smoke poured out into the damp London air. It was at this point that it all became very loud and deafeningly noisy. The volume had been cranked up to its highest pitch. In the end two of our motor cycling friends performed some impeccably executed wheelies and one of them lifted themselves onto the edge of the seat and just sat there without their hands on their handle bars. Amazing!

But this was not the end of it all. As we headed towards we noticed inflatable elephants, an inflatable mayor, some amusing characters dressed up as bears and it was as if London was determined to have a good time. My wife and I agreed that this particular street parade hadn't quite topped the Lord Mayor's Show for atmosphere and spectacle. It had been well organised and the preparation had been thorough. Our only criticism was that the New Year's Day parade in London seemed to fizzle out anti climactically and stopped almost completely without so much as a whimper.

As we headed towards Victoria I saw out of the corner of my eye something quite startling. There were two very colourfully dressed dance groups from Bolivia and Colombia. A small gaggle of girls wearing feathers and glittery dresses, shook their hips and danced to the hypnotic beat of the Latin samba and salsa. The men joined in and, with court jesters bells on their ankles, also paid their homage to dance and street theatre.

Our New Year's Day was now complete and after a brief lunch we called it a day. The faint drizzle had now subsided and we knew that it was just good to be out in the open air after what seemed an interminable round of complaining about the lack of any decent Christmas TV viewing, indulging, enjoying each other's company, dancing, carousing and cavorting, snapping Christmas crackers with cheesy jokes and then just staring at the wallpaper vacantly, wondering perhaps that several shelves wouldn't look out of place. Still we're all here present and correct. We've all been very polite and civil. We've all wished each other well and a happy New Year. From everybody here in Manor House have a wonderfully healthy and happy New Year.