Cheers, Ociffer

As we ring in 2008 and I watch the throngs of people crowded into Times Square to celebrate the new year, I am reminded of some of my more rowdy new year's celebrations. One in particular that comes to mind is my first few hours of 1991 when I was part of the British equivalent to the Times Square crush in Trafalgar Square.

I had only just moved to London a few days earlier and so new year's eve was my first real night on the town. I was really into Joe Jackson at the time and remember rocking out to his Look Sharp album as we prepared to hit Trafalgar that night.

Fast forward several hours. A bunch of us are milling about the crowds, each swigging from our own bottles of champagne. It was well past midnight and the party was still going strong, which is more than can be said about me who by now had more than his fair share of cheap bubbly.

As we were making our way up Charing Cross Road to Leicester Square I suddenly dropped my half full bottle of Champagne and watched almost in slow motion as it hit the pavement and shattered in violent explosion of glass and alcohol. I looked down to see a pair of shiny and very wet black patent leather shoes standing virtually toe to toe with me. Someone had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and bore the brunt of the damage....very wet shoes and pants on a brutally cold night.

As I slowly looked up from the shoes to see who was occupying them, the horror of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. It was none other than a British Bobby, decked out in his traditional, black uniform, cone-shaped helmet emblazoned with the silver badge of the metropolitan police force, and armed with his semi-automatic baton.

Suddenly I was having visions of me spending the night in a London lock-up sharing a bunk with some Jack the Ripper character. I looked up at the officer, who based on his grandfatherly looks must have been just shy of retirement, and he looked down at me for what seemed like forever. I quickly apologized and then waited for what I was sure was going to be the start of his interrogation. Instead I got a proper British accent saying to me in quite the jolly tone...

"No worries mate, Happy New Year!"

Indeed, old chap. Cheers!