New Decades Eve

It’s the huge collection of end of the decade collages on morning television today which calls to mind the fact that Richard and I spent the beginning of this decade in New York. A late night walk through Central Park to get back to our apartment and opening windows to hear the cheering crowds on the street near Times Square. A memory.

It seems only fitting then that we should be starting the next decade here in Sydney and planning our evening around getting a glimpse of the fireworks on the iconic harbour bridge, which I managed to negotiate successfully yesterday in a hire car the size of a command vehicle from International Rescue.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Which of course is the right thing to do as we will be celebrating this evening eleven hours before our friends and family in the UK, and sixteen hours ahead of our friends in New York.

New Year’s eve daytime at home is normally filled with a treat. A trip to an exhibition, the cinema, or some shopping before settling in for a cosy evening and some crap telly. So when working out what to do today here in Australia, we stuck to our well tried plans. We caught the bus to Watsons Bay, a little beach resort at the very end of Sydney Harbour. It’s the sort of place Angela Lansbury might find herself solving crimes, with houses starting around the one and half million dollars mark. Walking through the town, we find a house with our name on it and the sold sign, but later we discover the price is around three million, so it’s a little out of our holiday spending money range.

Camp Cove is not what it might suggest. It’s a pleasant but crowded little beach full of families, and it’s hot. Very hot. We lay our towels down and do what all good Brits do. Start listening to some BBC Comedy on our headphones. Great to hear "Dead Ringers" summing up the year in 41 degree sunshine.

After a while even Jan Ravens delicious impression of Diane Abbot fails to do the trick and we take to the sea. It’s cold but fabulously refreshing and it’s a moment of Ozzie magic to think its New Year’s eve morning and we are in the Pacific Ocean. Last year we were in Bicester Outlet Village. Just goes to show.

A walk back to Watsons Bay and we manage to get a table at Doyles, a fabulous fish and chip restaurant on the harbour. Perch and chips with chilli plum sauce and a frozen margarita. No scraps and mushy peas here folks. A bus ride back, and we take to the bar downstairs for a favourite holiday pastime. The Telegraph Crossword. Completed together sitting on a couple of bar stools with cold drinks. What could be better?

Dinner is booked at a rather gorgeous restaurant down the road.As we sit on the terrace by the road side eating a fabulous mela, the streets are full of people scurrying along to watch the 9pm kids fireworks. When they come, it’s like a blitzkrieg in a thunderstorm.

It’s summer here and that is what makes the atmosphere so different. At 11pm as we walk down the streets to our selected vantage point of the bridge, parties are happening on every balcony. The police are

chatting and taking selfies with revellers, and we are surrounded by all nationalities. Our super viewpoint standing on a raised kerb at the bottom of a street near us is soon under siege from Germans and Scottish, but we hold firm. Even some out of tune renderings of Auld Lang Syne cannot move us.

And when they come, the fireworks are magic. The crowd are joyous, the night is warm and even a few drops of summer rain can’t dampen the spirits. At the end of a superb display, lighting the bridge like a fairy trellis, we walk back up the road, happy, content, and together with yet another magic memory to put in the book called Australia.

From where we are right now, 2020 looks good.