2020 - what a year but we're all still here.

 2020- What a year but we're still there. 

In any considered analysis of the year most of us would normally be tempted to look back on the highlights of the year which is about to draw a close in a couple of days time. But where on earth do we start with 2020? We could be blithely philosophical and put it down experience or we could just dwell morbidly on the one recurring theme of the year since the end of March. It kept turning up like the proverbial bad penny and failed to come down on the side we would have liked it to. 

Still, let's be honest we're all here and we've all survived the most tempestuous 12-month storm in living history. In fact if there had been any Hollywood directors hanging around a rapidly emptying film studio this could have been the one very gruesome story they were looking for. But then who would have believed them in the first place even if they'd had a crystal ball at their disposal? Nostradamus may well have given us a portentous warning but then again how would we have been prepared anyway?

In January Australia was ravaged and almost ruined by the raging forest fires which swept the country like the most ferocious wind, burning thousands of trees, destroying homes, ripping away families from their loved ones and causing utter mayhem and death in its turbulent path. We thought then we'd seen the last of these unfortunate disasters little knowing or legislating for what was about to happen next. The world was about to come a complete full stop, maybe a temporary hiatus while a minor wintry illness blew over. We were terribly wrong. 

And yet here we are right at the end of 2020 and everything lies in tatters, broken and shattered into a million pieces, our world turned upside down for what now feels like ages. This has, not, to put too fine a point on it, been a year to remember and one we'd like to instantly forget. We used to take political upheavals, hurricanes, explosions, terrorist attacks, murders, fires and fatal accidents in our stride because they were somehow expected and unavoidable. But this year has undoubtedly been the most horrific, painful, harrowing, intolerable, unfathomable, inexplicable, appalling and instantly forgettable year of all time. 

But with days to go before the shutters go up on the old year it is comforting to know that we're all here in the flesh, breathing the exquisite cold air of deepest December and still looking with some wonder at the Christmas tree shop in Finsbury Park. This morning most of the impromptu display of Christmas trees had now gone and all you could see were the remnants of pine and fir trees on the ground about to be cleared very promptly. You thought for a minute, distanced yourself from any dormant anxieties about the future and just concentrated on the here and now. It can never be wise to make ambitious plans. 

This year's New Year's Eve celebrations will have to be kyboshed because Covid 19 has made sure that it won't be possible so it might be advisable to pull out the electrical plug and forget that magnificent yearly firework display on the Embankment because we can't do it and that's all we need to know. Any New Year's Day parties are now forbidden and for the first time in memory, nobody will be allowed to see in the New Year with a glass of champers in their hands, a toast to absent friends and the best wishes to all mankind for a happy and healthy New Year. 

None of us will be allowed to blow crazy whistles at each other and those dear old balloons will have to be chucked back into the attic or cupboard because this is not a New Year's Eve devoted to merriment and mirth, just a gentle whimper of stultifying anti-climax. This year we'll all be ushering in the New Year with our immediate family, the family dog or cat, a couple of old Christmas crackers and jokes that were neglected on Christmas Day and perhaps a lengthy game of Trivial Pursuits or even a jigsaw puzzle if the mood should take you. 

We could if we were to feel ever so inclined, read a book, listen to the radio, polish off the remains of the turkey, tidy up the living room, all the while shuffling despondently around the kids who are still determined to have a good time come what may and then we'll probably have an early night. Big Ben, still wrapped in bandages for a good old health check, will still ring in the New Year at midnight but it'll sound like a very hollow clang with little to inspire any of us to get up and dance the night away. 

And yet it only seems like yesterday since New Year's Eve wasn't really heralded with anything special about it. Until 1982 Britain still had only three TV channels, the BBC could only offer us Scottish entertainer Andy Stewart in his tartan kilt from the White Heather Club while ITV clung onto Moira Anderson who, rather like Stewart would hop and skip daintily between swords before knocking back huge quantities of Highland whisky. Oh for the joys of Hogmanay.

It all seems like a long time ago but New Year's Eve from years gone by seemed like something of a damp squib. Revellers would regularly descend on the Trafalgar Square fountains in London's West End and all would be well with the world. But that was pretty much it for all concerned. There may have been a couple of screaming fireworks and Catherine wheels but let's face it, there seems no point in trying to re-produce that effect. 

So here we are all gathered in our living rooms, swigging back snowballs or innumerable lagers and ciders all within the privacy and intimacy of our own homes. Family and friends will have to forego the pleasure of slapping each other's backs, sighing at each other's naff jokes and well-intentioned witticisms because that's not going to happen this year. Instead we'll be looking for consolation prizes such as festive hymns and piano recitals with whomsoever fancies a subdued knees- up with a glass of orange juice. 

Then we'll all embark on a very low profile conga around the kitchen, slump back onto a comfortable sofa, look at each other in some bemusement because quite frankly any semblance of joy seems highly inappropriate and who cares about the famous Big Ben bong when nobody really feels like doing anything anyway. 

Still, as has already been pointed out we must acknowledge that all of our faculties are in good order, all are still united and harmonious. In fact we're all still thinking of what we do have and just relieved that the uncles, cousins and aunties we never see from one year to the next, are still snoring their heads off.  There are reasons to be cheerful and we must try to put everything into some kind of perspective. We are all huddled together for warmth, giggling delightedly at the way that everything that should have been traditional is very much the way it used to be anyway. So there's no complaining from that quarter. Ladies and Gentlemen, it's time to cast our eyes forward to 2021. Soon 2020 will just be another page from history.