And Toy Party it was! The V. Strict Head Prefect who runs my apartment building issued an edict which she posted in the Lift, decreeing that a Maximum of Eight People Per Apartment Only were allowed on the roof to view the fireworks.
It was a Public Liability Issue. Someone might throw a bottle of champagne off the roof. Or perhaps Another Reveller.
And Absolutely No Stiletto Heels on the Roof. They might punch unsightly holes in the bitumen or asbestos or whatever the roof is made of.
Look above at Four of the Toy Party Attendees including Me.
It was V. Hot & Steamy. That's why we're all wearing singlets. Except that Marge & Jenny are modestly covering up their Middleagedarms with lumberjack style shirts.
Entirely unnecessary of course. They've both got arms like Tennis Players.
Earlier, I was elegantly dressed. Rather like a Mourner at a Garden Party maybe in the 1950s. I wore a necklace of cream & black flowers that I'd bought earlier that day at my favourite cheap jewellry shop of all time, 'Diva'. Billie-Mae looks Athletically Ravishing in a simple singlet.
Here's the view from the roof at midnight. I hope you can make out the Harbour Bridge & the Opera House.
People buy tickets & queue for hours to see the fireworks in Sydney on NYE. All I have to do is walk up two flights of stairs as the Head Prefect turns the lifts off on NYE .
I'm so lucky.
Of course, the next day the Sydney Morning Herald smugly proclaimed that Our Party was the biggest in the world.
I'm sure it wasn't.
I spent the entire night either eating these Little Gems or obsessing over how many I'd eaten.
Lastly, lastly, I hope you've got a Whole Swag of New Year's Resolutions made up.
I haven't bothered.