I parked up on the moors last night, with the sky clear and full of stars. The lights of Burnley were twinkling in the valley below like the dying embers of the old year. It was only when the fireworks started that I realised midnight had arrived. Without a firework display to add some spurious excitement, the countdown to 2016 would end in silence: a non-event, an existential void. For a few minutes the fireworks turned Burnley into a war-zone.
In Wetherspoons for breakfast. Very quiet… just a few old guys. Whatever they’ve resolved to give up in January, it isn’t the idea of drinking beer on an empty stomach at 8 o’clock in the morning…
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