I am, perhaps, a few midnights late on the twenty-thirteen uptake...
I am, perhaps, a few midnights late on the twenty-thirteen uptake, but I'm sure there's some place in the Universe where the fireworks and champagne are still going - so to you, dear Aliens: Happy New Year! After last year's Gossip Girl and Calvin Harris countdown, I wasn't sure about filming this year's December 31st festivities. But, in the end, my hilariously disorganised cab-flagging and our unthemed state of affairs didn't matter, for Alex had bought me this killer Zara jumpsuit for Christmas, I had discovered that my new hair looked reasonably shmick slicked back, and my beautiful friends could make me laugh ever so candidly for hours at a time. Often, I find that it's hard to stop thinking about the work that didn't make the end-of-year cut, but when you know that for just one night, nobody is sending demanding emails or waiting for an update, you can relax and wholly appreciate how god damn spectacular your closest are. And the fireworks. Oh the fireworks.
And what of 2013? The first year since 1987 to have four different digits. Why that's important, I don't know - people try to find some divine meaning and significance in everything when, really, they should be building it themselves. This year is going to be different, they say, before continuing to go about every task in exactly the same way. To that effect, their New Year's Resolutions will most likely fail. But this year is going to be different. Soppy motivational speeches aside, this is the year you should probably try doing something astronomical. Move out. Hell, move overseas. Execute step one in your world domination plan. Find people with the same mindset and you and create something unheard of. Just do it and see how it feels i.e. exceptionally addictive. I, for one, am taking so many leaps of faith in the next couple of months that I'm going crazy keeping them from you for the time being. Rest assured that Instagram will be the first to hear about it all. And then this little blog. So don't go anywhere.
But for now, forget about all that and dance around your room to Swedish House Mafia and see how long you can stare at the above fireworks without going loopy.
Cheers to that.
photos and filming by myself and Alistair Stephenson