New Year`s Eve

It`s 31 December 2025 and I`m spending New Year`s Eve in my village in the Cotswolds.

I wake up around 9 to the sound of birds outside my cottage window.

The place is cosy, log fire crackling in the living room, frost in the grass and the church bell ringing faintly in the distance.

My dog Max jumps on the bed for a cuddle before I even get up.

I make a pot of tea, proper English breakfast tea with milk and have it with toast and marmalade while looking out at the fields.

No rush today.

The village pub opens later and everyone`s taking it easy after Christmas.

I take Max for a morning walk along the footpaths.

It`s crisp and cold, breath coming out in clouds, but beautiful with the bare trees and sheep in the meadows.

We pass a few neighbors who wave and say "Happy New Year" early.

Back home by 11, I light  the fire properly and put on some music - nothing loud, just a chill playlist with acoustic stuff.

I tidy the cottage a bit, wrap up the last of the Christmas decorations to put away tomorrow.

Mum rings from the next village over.

"Coming to the pub tonight, love?"

I say yes, of course.

The whole village usually gathers there for New Year`s Eve.

Around lunch time, I make a sandwich and watch a bit of telly - old films on in the afternoon.

Then I get ready casually - jeans, thick jumper, boots and my warm coat.

By 6, it`s already dark.

Fairy lights twinkling on the cottages down the lane.

I walk to the pub, the Red Lion, with Max.

Dogs are welcome there.

The pub is buzzing when I arrive.

Locals packed in, fairy lights up, fire roaring.

I spot my mates at our usual table.

Sarah from the farm, old school friend Ben, and a few others.

We get pints.

I go for the local cider - crisp and refreshing.

And start chatting about the year.

Laugh about the summer feat, the flooded lane in autumn, plans for the village hall.