It’s cold again today with a “feels like” factor of -1°C. Yes, I know that some of you live in parts of the world where you take deep subzero winter temperatures for granted but I don’t. I’m British, brought up in a land of fog and rain where, if it does snow, it’s well-behaved, apologetic, snow that has the decency to melt straightway or at least, within a day or two. I feel the cold!

It took us a while to get started today, until lunchtime in fact. Then we sat around for a while thinking about going out. We had half-planned to visit Myddelton’s deli today but, well, they closed at 3pm today, and we missed them.

Saint Espresso – closed

We decided we would just make a dash for coffee and come home again. We tried Saint Espresso but arrived just too late – there was someone still on the premises but he indicated by hand signals that they were closed. So Tigger hand-signalled “Happy New Year” to him and we went on our way.

“We’ll go to Starbuck’s,” said Tigger. “They’re open till 5pm.”

She had thought to photograph the opening-hours notice at our last visit.

Jusaka – closed

On reaching the Angel crossroads, we could see that Jusaka was closed. That was no surprise as they have been closed since before we entered Tier 4 and we’re beginning to wonder whether they will ever open again. This has been a ferociously bad time for small businesses and many have closed never to open again.

Islington High Street – busy

The High Street and, beyond, Upper Street, were quite busy even though the banks and other businesses were closed. I don’t know where all the people were going but they all seemed purposeful enough.

Starbuck’s – open

Starbuck’s was open – Tigger was right, of course – and in we went. Tigger went to the counter to order and I went along too as moral support. Then Tigger went to the collection point and I retired to my corner. That’s just to the left inside the door beside the shelf with the notice reading “DO NOT USE”. I’m out of people’s way there and it’s a warmer place to wait than outside.

Looks the same – except for the screens

Inside, Starbuck’s looks as it always did, except, of course, for the transparent screens that are now in use in all shops and businesses dealing with the public. That and the round footprint markers glued to the floor indicating which way you should walk.

Clutching the coffees (which, as I have explained, is my job), we set off for home.

We had, of course, put on masks to go into Starbuck’s, a fact that reminded me of something I find odd. Has anyone else experienced this?

People who wear spectacles complain that wearing a mask causes their lenses to steam up, especially in cold days. Now, I don’t wear spectacles in the street but I have noticed that my eyes steam up.

You may think that silly and the effect of overweening imagination but I first noticed the effect when I tried to read a notice while wearing a mask and finding I couldn’t. I thought my eyesight was failing but later, without the mask, it returned to normal. Since then, I have experienced the same effect systematically: my sight suffers when I wear a mask.

If you have noticed the same thing yourself – your eyeballs “steaming up” – I’d be interested to hear about it.

We returned home and drank our coffee accompanied by Kit Kat, the dark chocolate variety. I have rediscovered Kit Kat and how well they go with coffee and, for that matter, tea. Maybe I am regressing back into childhood!

Will you be staying up tonight to bid adieu to the Old Year, as it hobbles off into the darkness, and to welcome in the New Year with its bundle of hopes and uncertainties?

When I became a quasi grownup in my teen years, then I did stay up to hear the striking in of the New Year by the gong of Big Ben, relayed by BBC radio. There was a special reason for this.

My mother had a somewhat chequered religious history. Although brought up a Catholic, she had rejected the Catholic faith and embraced Anglicanism in its place. She was, in addition, rather superstitious. Every first day of the month, I would catch her, while still in bed, muttering over and over again “White rabbits, white rabbits, white rabbits…”, a ritual which, she asserted, brought good luck for the ensuing month.

Salt was never spilt but that a pinch was cast over one’s left shoulder to conjure the bad luck that such spillage was supposed to incur. Ladders were not to be walked under, of course, even if untenanted at the time of one’s passage.

I could go on but I am sure you see the picture.

The arrival of the New Year had to be attended to with appropriate ceremony. This involved the ritual called First Footing. I believe that this is, strictly speaking, associated with the Scottish Hogmanay so how my mother acquired it, I do not know. According to my mother, in order to have good luck in the coming year, the first person to cross your threshold after midnight must be male, must be dark-haired and must bring a gift coloured black. Don’t ask me to explain the reasons for this as I have no idea.

It so happens that I am male and that I have dark hair. I thus became the official Bringer of Good Luck to our household in the New Year.

As the clock approached midnight on December 31st, I was dispatched into the back garden and the back door was bolted against me. I might add that the garden was entirely enclosed and that the only way in or out was through the house. It was very unlikely that any genuine visitor would arrive by this route unless it was a neighbour – or possibly a fleeing burglar – who had climbed over the garden wall for reasons best known to themselves.

In the garden was the coal shed, a ruinous affair originally built as a summer house. I was instructed to go there and select a piece of coal which would serve as the black-coloured gift. Thus would I wait, coal in hand, shivering with cold and feeling oh-so-slightly ridiculous, until summoned by the chimes of Big Ben. Thereupon I had to rap on the back door and, upon admittance, present my lump of coal to my mother.

Having fulfilled my duty, I was allowed to warm myself by the fire and drink ginger wine heated with the addition of hot water.

Those days are long gone. Since then, I have experienced many a New Year, whether in Britain hearing to the chimes of Big Ben or in France listening to revellers driving their cars madly through the streets sounding their horns. I have not presented anyone with a lunp of coal for decades nor do I know anyone who would thank me for such an arcane gift.

Whatever particular ceremonies you yourself perform welcome in the New Year, I wish you a happy and prosperous 2021 with bounteous good fortune throughout.