The truth is, I’m hung over. Overcooked.  Christmas and New Year have done me in. I can’t cook anything new.

It’s my own fault. Determined not to do *absolutely nothing* for New Year simply because we have a toddler, live in the countryside and the thought of organising a babysitter/taxi etc was too much of a headache, I decided to host a party. Invite the new locals I’ve met ’round for a bit of a shin dig.

Problem is, the only locals I know were found at toddler groups, ergo also have toddlers, and face the same challenges we do with regards to getting out.

The answer was to host a little drinks party between 5-7pm, feed the kids and get on the lash early.  If we were Spanish, the kids would probably stay up late, sleep where they fell and the and the party would go on long into the evening for the grown ups.  But we’re not Spanish.  My guests are English and Gina Ford has done tidy work on the children who need to be in bed by 7pm or it all gets a little scary.

The result was, we started necking Champagne at 4.30pm (thanks to Jane who decided to pitch up early) and effectively truncated an entire New Year’s Eve worth of chat and drinking into two hours.   We’d decided to celebrate Kathmandu’s New Year (roughly coinciding with the equivalent of toddler midnight in the UK – i.e 7pm) so did a count down, poppers and everything. Then, like clock-work, the children started turning into pumpkins – walking into furniture,  spontaneously bursting into tears and thumping each other. This signals bed-time. The parents panic and there is a mass exodus to get the children into bed before the shit really hits the fan. Tires screech.

And then Molly’s Godfather turned up.  Suffice to say, he has no sympathy for the complaints of ageing parents who’ve left it all too late and frankly should have a bit more stamina.  Resigned to our fate, we polished off the last of the last of the champagne, opened a bottle of wine or two, ate more food (a very good fillet steak with Minnie’s home-made chips I should say), saw the New Year in with Godfather Tom, and hit the hay by 12.01am. Heavily.

Today, we were the worst possible hosts and even worst parents. Hopeless.

This is a ‘nothing new here’ post to say thank god for home-made sausages in the freezer, my favourite sausage and mash recipe on the planet and Sherlock Holmes on the BBC. Saved.

Happy New Year everyone. x