New Year's Eve

All night long, delayed text messages bleeped... I was waiting for one from Offsprog One, made up as a lion, to tell me whether she was coming home or not.
Outside, a howling fox complained about the cold to the full extent of its vocabulary.
'Staying at S's' came the text at 3.45 so I went to sleep. Two hours later, subtle crashings and thumpings came from downstairs, and I programmed 999 into my phone and advanced below to confront the burglar.
It was Offsprog One, who had changed her plans and was foraging for food.
What a funny night! On the way to the gig, two young boys-from-the-hood, or rather, boys-from-the-burbs, kept the entire tube carriage entertained. They were wearing headphones and were oblivious to the volume of their conversation. One had a box of chips and the other talked nineteen to the dozen: they bounced around like jumping jack fireworks.
Everyone had innocent-looking bottles of Coke, with not-so-innocent bigger bottles tucked into their coats to top them up with.
Booze ban? Boris, I don't think so!
There were fancy dress parties galore. At Euston, two stocky ravers stood rather mournfully in fluorescent garb, with blue faces. At King's Cross, three little Goths with purple and blue hair sported spiky black fascinators atop their garb (always get them mixed up with amuse-bouches for some reason. Pretentious, moi?) and they huddled around a Plan.
There were lots of loud groups of teenage boys, looking for something but they weren't sure what.
I returned to Barnet alone, and sat with a mince pie and a cup of tea watching Jools Holland.
Have you noticed how he states the obvious? 'Tom Jones has got a face'. Well, I exaggerate... 'Tom Jones, who has been a successful artist for many years'...
Sorry, I'm burbling... but I became a Paolo Nutini fan, because that guy can sing!
Finally for today, love and best wishes to Martin, and Happy New Year to anyone who passes by and trawls through my daily gibberish!