And a random New Year to all

After being so bored today that I drove to the Oakridge centre and bought tracksuit trousers (oh yes), New Year's Eve was upon me. For a start there was something strange about talking to someone in another country that has already had New Year some hours previously, when mine is yet to come. But there you go.

The chain of events this evening was roughly as follows; get phone call from errant cousin, explaining that his phone contract had expired at the precise point at which midnight came in the UK, with the phone switching itself off and refusing to come on again. Hence his lack of communication with yours truly. Arrange to meet said cousin at half past nine outside the art gallery downtown. Throw on boots and coat, leg it down to 7/11 to buy chewing gum and get change for bus in case transport is not in fact free and I look like a tit. Manage to get bus by the skin of my teeth, and the damn thing is free after all.

On entering downtown, get stuck in mega traffic jam and become late for meeting with cousin. Get off bus and run to art gallery, to find one photographer dude, many goth underage drinkers, and no cousin. Wait in cold. Cousin arrives with friends in tow, walk to so-called "First Night" which promises to be the main event in Vancouver, pay $15 to get in, get free glow-pen (this alone made the entry fee worthwhile). Walk to first stage where we are confronted by two drama students twirling to music that they alone can hear and which bears no resemblance to what is actually playing. Crowd builds to watch said students dancing like lunatics. Stare in disbelief as random Yorkshire bloke on stage (who plays the ukelele) pulls out a camcorder and invites the crowd to come forward into a big mass and "Say happy new year to my mate Stuart who didn't want to fly over here tonight because he hates planes, and while you're at it, get out your lighters and phones and wave them so he can see the lights." Run away from stage in fear of strange Yorkshire men.

Queue for half an hour to get into "CBC ballroom", eventually getting in to find a very old man with a very old band and some very old jazz songs. Listen to two, then leave when the shite love song gets played, trying to gain entry to "Songwriters cafe." On being told this will be another wait of half an hour, leave First Night in disgust, having paid $15 to do essentially naff all. (Note to readers: all First Night venues are alcohol free).

Respond to needs of men in party by finding a bar (time now: 11:10pm). Walk down road, enter one bar, decide it is too upmarket. Find "Pub 304" where flyer promises a band made up of former members of "Muscle Bitches" and queue for entry. Queue until 11:35pm, then decide to run for condo of cousin's friend in an attempt to get back and get alcohol before midnight. Make it to gardens outside condo before midnight comes, heralded by cheering from other flats, fireworks, and loud screaming. Join in with this merriment whilst outside the flat, feeling like we missed something.

Enter condo, whereupon male members of party fall upon alcohol rations and get smashed within seconds. Cousin peruses local erotic ads in paper, closely followed by personal ads for him, then personal ads for me, despite my objections. Watch two episodes of Little Britain on the laptop, then depart, followed by the cousin who insists on walking me to the bus stop. Walk to bus stop, wait 1 hour for bus, then get on random bus as frostbite hits my toes. First flakes of snow fall.

Bus journey punctuated by fears that the guy opposite me will throw up, as I had seen him do many times outside the bus stop before we got on. Many singing people, and much hilarity caused by guy at front of bus purloining driver's microphone and singing "99 bottles of beer on the wall." He makes it to 91 bottles before petering out. This is followed by renditions of the Backstreet Boys' "I want it that way," "Ole ole ole" and "The wheels on the bus." Make unwilling friends with guy next to me, who takes a picture of us with his camera. Get off at 37th Ave with same guy, who tries to force me to kiss him; I beat him off and walk six blocks home with freezing feet. Home time; 3:15am.

And you know, throughout all of this coldness, crap event-ness, and randomness, I had the best New Years I have had in a long time. There was no alcohol, hence no worrying about friends and money, and everything was so surreal that it was funny. And we all agreed that actually, being outside of loads of apartments when midnight came was really rather cool, as you could hear all the people across the harbour cheering and wishing each other a happy new year. Ok, I could have done without the bus not arriving and some arse trying to kiss me, but hey, it snowed a bit. Which makes me optimistic and happy.

Mark Twain has my New Year's resolutions this year: Dance like nobody's watching; love like you've never been hurt. Sing like nobody's listening; live like it's heaven on earth.