New Year’s Eve crept up on me a bit this year, I think perhaps because it didn’t take so much organisation and preparation, we were staying local, the party was to be held at my parents house meaning I could take super-turbo Claire and have high flow O2 all night if needs be, and lie down whenever needed, so no need to order loads of cylinders or anything like that.

The evening was brilliant, the drink flowed, food was plentiful, good music blaring and everyone was chatting merrily. Before I knew it, it was 11.55, and being nearest the TV I was handed the remote and told to turn up the volume just before midnight so we could hear Big Ben chime. I watched as a large digital timer counted down the final few minutes, and suddenly I felt heart begin to pound harder as I started (for some completely inexplicable reason) to panic. I think it was the very image of time passing in such a dramatic fashion, the countdown appearing to me to signify not “4 minutes till the new year” but more “4 minutes till the death of all that you know, that you have survived and is therefore safe” in melodramatic and tragic manner. Fighting the urge to throw myself Kamikaze-style at the TV and knock it over thus destroying this strange time-bomb sensation, the tears began to emerge. As quick as a flash A was sitting next to me holding my hand, and despite the terror continuing to flutter inside me I knew how stupid and farcical the whole thing was and sat smiling through my tears like a slightly mad old woman who sits in the corner stroking a stuffed cat. Even as Big Ben began to chime, the fear began to loosen its grip a little on my stomach, and I shook myself and joined in the pile of human hugs which was mounding in the middle of the room.

Five minutes of madness in a New Year’s Eve is not bad, and the rest of the evening was just fantastic. My lungs actually appeared to improve as the night went on, and come 3am I was still up with my sisters and their friends dancing in my own special way (which involves predominantly standing very still and swaying slightly to the music whilst mouthing the words and concentrating on slow breathing – it does not look as great as the skill required to master it).

Emmie and I got all enthusiastic on the 2nd and decided to have a business meeting which true to form involved blankets, pillows, sleeping and pizza. After my lungs had had a slight whinge which rendered me unable to do anything except breathe for a good hour or so, we ran through the various ideas, issues and notes we have floating around. Said meeting has geared us up for muchly campaigning and we are ready to throw ourselves with all our might. 2007 - bring it on!