So, it is new years eve, 11.30. Tommorow will be horrible. Arsenal vs West Ham. We are getting rid of glasses, wooden chairs, anything that can be used in a (possibly inevitable) brawl. The boss is pouring a pint, a shot and getting a glass for champagne ready. The pub is empty but for the die-hard locals and the teens who never knew better. Our pub is one where nights are started, not climaxed. Adam, one of my Polish mates informs me that civilised Europe had new year an hour ago. Bong go the big ben bells (a few miles away but on the telly) the staff drink and cheer and for once us and the regular customers are one. Celebrating the new year. We watch the fireworks by the London Eye (“That’s a million of our money going up in smoke” one says. And he’s right, it is.) Then we serve again and tidy the pub for tomorrow’s game. When we are done we get ratarsed and I walk home singing.   Happy New Year.

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