Hogmanay

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The period of mist and mellow fruitfulness has passed, and we’re plunged headlong into that time of conspicuous consumption referred to as ‘The Festive Season’.

Now aside from the fact it starts about the middle of September, I’m okay with Christmas. It’s a happy time, to be savoured with family and friends, and of course it’s a magical event for the Grandkids. But no sooner is Christmas done than the dreaded New Year arrives. I’ve never really seen the point of this additional binge so hot on the heels of the previous one, but this year I’m dreading it, as the wife and I will be spending it with the outlaws in Edinburgh.

Based on previous experience, there appear to two ways of celebrating Hogmanay in that grand auld toon. You can join the crush in the centre, where about a hundred thousand punters pile into Princes Street and recreate the Black Hole of Calcutta on a vast scale. There you’ll stand for hours, crushed like a sardine behind crowd barriers in the freezing cold (and like as not, pissing rain), while complete strangers tell you how much they love you, and everyone tries to convince everyone else that they’re having. a. wonderful. time. At midnight the fireworks will briefly blossom over the castle, then with a sense of anti-climax, everyone will stagger off, leaving behind several tons of litter, and hundreds of gallons of piss swilling around in doorways.

Alternatively, you can congregate at the in-laws, where dozens of complete strangers will tell you how much they love you. Old gits will dampen the atmosphere by insisting that the telly is on. This is so they can watch her off BBC Scotland’s early evening news programme introduce a series of cunts in tartan, who will proceed to prance about like fannies whilst yelling ‘yeeee ha!’, accompanied by a couple of tools playing unrecognisable jigs on fiddle and accordion. Everyone will try to convince everyone else that they’re having. a. wonderful. time.

As midnight approaches, mein host will instruct everyone to ‘charge their glasses’, and the reverential countdown to ‘The Bells’ will commence. Three, two, one… ‘Happy New Year!’. Everyone will hug everyone, and my mad bitch of a sister-in-law, now well oiled, will grab hold of me, shove her tongue down my throat and attempt to play ‘Auld Lang Syne’ on my tonsils. Then everyone will attempt to neck more food and drink than seems humanly possible while some cunt insists on bawling ‘My Love Is Like A Red Red Rose’ at the top of his voice. Matters will proceed in this vein until around five am, when the wife and I will collapse into bed. The room will then proceed to revolve around us as we hover on the tortured fringes of sleep, feeling like death warmed up.

Around midday I’ll struggle out of bed in urgent need of a piss. Then shivering and with a mouth that tastes like a camel’s enclosure, I’ll lurch downstairs in search of coffee. The wife, normally the epitome of womanly loveliness and elegance, will resemble the Wreck of The Hesperus, and will plead pitifully to be left to die in peace. In the kitchen, I’ll be greeted with a boisterously cheerful ‘Happy New Year!’ from the in-laws, and an enthusiastic ‘let’s get the bacon rolls on!’. Jesus. A bacon roll’s just what I’ll need when my head feels like a cannonball that’s about to plummet due south and exit explosively from my arsehole. ‘Any Andrews’ Liver Salts?’ I’ll croak. ‘Ha ha’, they’ll crow, ‘th’ Anglish never cad hawld their drenk!’

And New Year’s Day will drag on, with me doing my utmost to avoid noise of any description and alcohol of any kind, and longing to get back to the comfort of my own bed. The awful horror of excess indulgence and enforced joviality is bad enough, but what I really can’t stand about Hogmanay is the self-congratulatory heartiness of it all; that ‘here’s tae us, wha’s like us? Gey few, an’ they’re a’ deid’ maudlin, mawkish sentimentality. Mercifully by the 3rd of January we’ll be back in the quiet of our own house, and it will be, as my dear old mom used to say, ‘as far away as it will ever be’. Roll on.

Nominated by Ron Knee

98 thoughts on “Hogmanay”

  1. I agree,entirely. Have not been out on NYE since 1999.

    However, 2020 is going to be great…

    Death to Labour.
    Fuck the EU…

    • I’m feeling your pain RK, a few years ago what started off as beer and whiskey induced pub bull shit ended up with my friend and our two girlfriends at the time flying to Edinburgh the day before New Year’s Eve, we realised our folly the minute we exited the terminal and were immediately cut in half by the wind and freezing weather! , the enormous queue waiting for a taxi didn’t raise our spirits , the lyrics from flower of Scotland ringing in my head “ proud Edwards army, and sent him homeward, to think again “ all started to make perfect sense
      Maybe Edward wasn’t as stupid as i thought?
      Like us he had a brief look around and decided it wasn’t for him and headed back south 😂

      New Years was a fucking shambles, massive crowds and the big screen repeatedly played the proclaimers 500 mile song ! , they must have been reading my mind other than if I couldn’t walk the required 500 miles back to England I would have willingly crawled it.
      As the wind and driving rain put pay to any expectations of a castle fireworks display we headed back to our hotel to drown our sorrows
      Many others may have enjoyed this experience and good luck to them….

    • I do not want to see the end of the Labour Party; rather I wish to see it stagger into the future giving folorn hopes of a new dawn to the likes of Owen Jones ,Emma Thompson et al. The sight of of them sobbing their hearts on results day is far too precious to be consigned to the dustbin of history.

  2. I’ll be in bed by half ten at the latest. The only single highlight of your diatribe is the bacon sarni. Celebrating new year is cuntish, the telly is shite, the sentiment is shite. The only nice thing is the fireworks, I love em. Other than that it can fuck properly off.

  3. New Years Eve is the one night of the year not to venture out. The streets are full of millennials, not used to drinking, who inevitably over indulge and end up puking, fighting and falling over. I went to the Trafalgar Square nonsense once, many years ago, and never again. It was a fucking nightmare then, I dread to think what it must be like now with Londonstabistan teeming with foreign criminals looking for an easy pissed up mark.
    I’m staying in with a shitload of Stella and you can stick your fake bonhomie with a load of foreign cunts and toffee nosed libtards up your arse.
    Fucking cunts.

  4. Believe me, Mrs Boggs will be watching that limp wristed old cunt “Jools” Holland, in a New Year show recorded in the wilds of Kent in October. I will take one of her sleeping tablets and be well out of it by the time te old cunt makes an arsehole of himself again

  5. I hate the idea that the Edinburgh festivities represent how Scotland celebrates hogmanay. All bollocks.

    I hope 2020 will represent true change, but I’d get locked up for merely thinking about the social change I desire for the New Year.

    • Well you never know, if Jimmy Krankie gets her way and there is a 2nd referendum and the Scots vote to leave the UK, we won’t have to suffer the shite that is Hogmanay in the next couple of years!

      • ‘Independence Day III; Hogmanay’.
        Christ on a penny farthing. I’d put money on those awful cunts the SNP declaring 1st Jan as Indy Day. It’s the kind of lardy triumphalism that the revel in. Shithouses.

  6. 2020 will be the end of luvvies, PC gone mad, libtards, lefties and non- binary shite.

    Fuck this ,so called, climate emergency crap. Fuck Greta (who would?) Emma Thompson and, most of all, Corbyn.

    God bless the Queen.

    God bless America.

    Long live The state of Israel.

  7. Worst night of the year.

    One-visit-a-year ” locals” in the Pub wanting to shake your hand and wish you “All the best” when,in reality.they hate your guts. Maudlin silly old women with ‘taches wanting to lay the lips on you. Fucking overly-tired children screaming and wailing.

    Years ago everyone used to go house to house welcoming in the New Year…not now. Newcomers seemed to think that it was alright to make pigs of themselves at other people’s houses but,of course, couldn’t receive guests at their own homes in case “it might wake up the baby/we’ve got my Mother staying/I’ve just had new carpets fitted,sorry,can’t risk the mess etc”.

    I’ll be staying in,with the lights blazing,in the unlikely hope that some incomer becomes sufficiently drunk and sentimental to think “I’ll go and bury the hatchet with Fiddler..it is New Year,after all”…. I’ll sharp let them know where I stand on the “Let bygones be bygones” point of view.

    Fuck Off.

    • Dick i think of your village as like one in a universal studios 1930s horror film,
      All happy and dancing an drinking but dont go up to fiddlers place, especially after sunset.
      Tonights the night theyll come,
      Pitchforks and flaming torches!
      Once the mob bays the only thing to calm it is the blood of the monster..

  8. ” All the best ” the most vacuous and insincere statement ever. I certainly don’t wish it to the vast majority of people.
    It must be a fucking nightmare for the likes of the emergency services at this time of year.
    I’ll be in bed for eleven.
    The Lemmings can please themselves.
    All the best ?
    Get To Fuck.

  9. A masterpiece of a Cunting Ron.
    I’d be inclined to tell everyone concerned to Fuck Off and stay at home.
    Good morning.

    • Morning Jack. It’s a braw sunny day in the Old City this morning. Just been for a walk around Arthur’s Seat with the missus, and had her lecture about how I’d better not be a grumpy old cunt later. I’ll remind her of that about six in the morning when she’s whining on about how awful she feels and she can’t get to sleep.

  11. Your writing talents are wasted, Ron, you have a very vivid and descriptive narrative with your nomination to which I heartily endorse!

    That kind of thing – going out and partying in the streets till 3 in the morning – was okay in my misspent yoof; but over the last 20 years or so I really couldn’t give a shit out NYE/D. It’s all a load of bollocks, but other people will just call you a miserable old cunt etc.

    I definitely won’t be watching the new year via the TV: can’t stand all those smug luvvies getting paid quadruple time just to entertain the plebs, while no doubt baring a grudge for all those “ignorant bigots” who voted for Boris, ha!

    I will probably see in the new year with a good wank – If I stay sober it could be over someone really attractive like Michelle Keegan; but if I end up getting pissed, it could be Jess fucking Phillips! (just don’t ask!)

    Happy New Year you bunch of cunts!

    • Call me a sick fucker, but I’d do the fuck out of Jess Phillips’ stinking shithole…and those massive tits…. yes fucking please.

      • I’ve seen some reprehensible shit spoken on this site, some of it by the Good Reverend here, but you are a twisted individual West Cuntry. I hadn’t even noticed she had tits, I’m too busy staring at her face open-mouthed wondering how God could be so cruel as to curse a soul with such a damnably hideous appearance. Seek help.

  12. I was just coming on myself to nominate Cuntmanay myself but Ron Knee has with this superb cunting done the job far better than I could myself.

    Well played sir

    May I wish all fellow cunters a happy new year

  13. Ive come out fighting in the corner of Christmas, country & western music,
    Christians right to beleive in god,
    But New Years eve?
    Fuck that shite!
    I’ve hated it since a kid, fake as fuck.
    For pissed up boring cunts,
    And fireworks?= qüeërs and arsonists.

    • Old Greta will be pissing in her knickers & screaming “How Dare You!” a million times when she sees all those fireworks going off around the world over the next 24 hours!

    • Morning Cuntflap,
      Do young uns still pay big money for tickets at clubs for new years?
      Probably eh?
      Im ducking whole thing, taking dog up on moors then telly an sausage rolls, early night.
      Watcha doin?

  15. 2020, maybe all the snowflakes will really all fuck off now and extinction rebellion will all now fuck right off , I hope Saint Greta meets some young man and gets what she needs and relieves herself from all that pent up frustration, ffs maybe the little cunt might grow up and give everyone a break, the sour faced spastic bitch

    • Greta will never find the “right” man; and quite frankly no man in his right mind would ever want to be anywhere near that VS foghorn!

      She’ll probably have to entertain herself with vegetarian flavoured dildos and vibrators – all made from recycled products that will save the planet for about 0.00000000000000000000001 second!

      Just trying to visualize her having a wank with said dildo while she shouts “How dare you, oh! How dare you, ahh! How dare you, yesss oh yesss!”

      Good God, I think I’m going to heave, and its only 10:30 in the AM

      • She’d probably have to thrash herself with a compostable length of cane at the same time, to revel in the guilt from the pleasure.

  16. Could tell this was Ron before I finished the first paragraph. And what a vision of hell is conjured up, and without once mentioning the Krankies – some feat.

    Early meal at our favourite pub. Home by 8 and then trying to protect the dog from the terror of fucking fireworks.

    • Our last dog before this was a staffie, until it went deaf, fireworks were the bane of its life, an ours!
      It ripped/chewed the kitchen skirting boards up, chewed up a kitchen door, and put a oversize comedy mouse hole into the living room.
      All because the local mitmots love loud noises and pretty lights.
      Fireworks? Should be 5yr penal servitude then forced gender reassignment for using them.
      Truly the sign of a big spacka.

      • A big spacka…. puts me in mind of the old Spastics collection boxes you used to get in shops, her with the big clod-hopping special shoe!! Wouldn’t be allowed them nowadays MNC

      • No they not the done thing now eh?
        Wonder if you can buy them?
        Old ones, wouldnt mind one for the porch! Better than a piggy bank.

      • Might have a look on Ebay!! “Spastic girl with orthopedic shoe and pet dog; coin slot in top of head, barely used, ideal conversation starter, £50 o.n.o.”

      • Nothing like forcing your views on other people! 😂
        Fireworks are pretty, pretty.

    • More people are speaking out against fireworks being on sale to the general public year-round. Keep an eye out for petitions and mention it to your local MP if you have the chance. They’re not a problem here but some poor cunts in the chavvy towns of England have to put up with them all fucking year – get the cunts banned from general sale.

  17. Be warned, cunters and gentlemen… This year’s Cuntenanny with Jools the Cunt features the BBC’s new pet: the odious cunt that is Stormzy… I am surprised that the corporation of cunts didn’t get their chocolate god to do the Queen’s speech on Christmas Day too…

    Mind you, I suppose it could be worse… At least it isn’t Stormzy and Ed Sheercunt….

  18. Hey cunters… yer me fuckin’ best mates… ‘appy new year eh??

    🎶 Ah… shood auld aqcuntance be ferget… 🎶… yer fuckahs…

    hic…

    BLOOOAAARGH!

  19. Actually I wouldn’t object to the sister-in-law coming over all pissed-up and romantic… always got the impression she would be able to suck a golf ball through a garden hose

  20. Great nom. I used to like it in my younger days as it was quite often a good chance for a snog/fumble with some woman you’d fancied all year.
    Now it appears that even quite alot of my favourite alcohol fails to lift me as much as it does the rest of the year.
    I find fake bonhomie boring and well, fake. Also, New years eve seems to attract a more than average amount of cunts to my local pubs.
    Ah well, all the best.

  21. I fucking loathe New Year. Wherever you are in the world there’s just no escaping it. At least Christmas is avoidable in the Middle East and a few other places …..but there’s no escaping the New Year shitfest starring Jules fucking Holland as Cunt No.1.

    I always wish we get 3ins of rain, Force 10 winds and power cuts to keep every cunt indoors with no means of watching the TV and resorting to the Ballotelli Method of igniting fireworks (ie letting em off indoors)

    Spare a thought for the poor Jocks. No sooner is all this fuckwittery over and done with than it’s fucking Burns Night in a week or two. More mincing around with swords.

    A happy or miserable 2020 (delete as appropriate) to all other cunts on ISAC.

    PS A word perfect cunting there Ron. Jack the Cunter said what I thought.I knew it was you after the first para.

    • Thanks Isaac. Looks like it’s going to be a nigh on perfect evening for the revellers up the toon if it stays like this, cold but still and dry. We won’t be going anywhere near Princes St I can tell you that. Fifty quid a skull or something for a pass to get into what is like a rugby scrum on a vast scale. Fucking lunacy.

  23. 🎶. But I would walk 500 miles
    And I would walk 500 more. 🎶

    FUCK OFF and catch the train you four eyed motherfuckers!

    • I am reminded of a Jerry Sadowitz joke: “What’s better than one of the Proclaimers dying in a car crash? Just one of them dying in it to leave the other one looking really fucking stupid.”

      • It’s a cracker Cuntan. I can’t stand those fucking cunts with their so emphasied Scottishness;
        ‘An’ ah wud wok fah-vuh handredd my-yulls , an’ ah-uh wud wok fah-vuh handredd moo-ruh…’.

        Not, let me emphasise, that I have anything whatsoever against Scottishness; it’s twee, phoney Scottishness I detest, just like I detest (eg) those silly cunts who try to ‘do’ Landan ‘street’ innit.

      • Steady Ron, veering towards being offensive there; I believe our Northern cousins from the land of shortbread and heroin prefer to be called “Scotch” people

      • They made a musical of their songs. Filmed. Mrs P likes it. I had to watch it. Like a 500 mile endurance course.

      • My sympathies Miles. Yes, all those other famous hits that come immediately to mind like, erm, that one, er……

      • I would walk 600 miles?
        Yeah didnt do as well, think the speccy fuckers would of got a car by now.

      • By nefarious means MNC I have got my hands on Jerry Sadowitz’s entire back catalogue, TV show and all! Meaning to watch all them

      • Really?
        Nice one! First time i saw Jerry Sadowitz was late 80s on some comedy lineup tv thing, an he jumped out as something special!
        Find him extremely funny, an like the fact he doesnt care for fame.

  24. Sounds like another excuse to get skull fucked. I say go out and enjoy yourselves highlanders because if the poisonous Brussels loving Anglophone Sturgeon gets her way and annihilates the Scottish economy and floods the country with criminals there won’t be much call for future celebrations. Little cunt.

  25. Unless Tina Kay is getting gangbanged on the parapets of Edinburgh castle, you couldn’t get me out to Princess Street in subzero temperatures for all the Cheeseburgers in New Yoik. My sympathies with you at this difficult time Ron.

    • Cheers your Reverance. It’s coming up for 6pm in Edinburgh, and the festivities will shortly be commencing. Must be on my best behaviour or I’ll get a right ear-bashing from the missus. All the best.

    • I’m sure that you’ll all join me in wishing all the very best to our Gazza in 2020. The fucking jug-eared waste of oxygen cunt.

  27. I’m guessing the peacefuls will be busy with the fit Kraut birds in Cologne tonight.
    Seems that since Merkel imported 1,000,000 of the cunts in 2015 this has been the Germans ‘New’ new years eve tradition that many innocent young Fraulines are sadly regretting.
    Cultural Enrichment anybody?

    Stay safe Cunters, thanks for all the giggles and laughs in 2019. See you in 2020.

      • You too Sir Knee!

        As long as there are Cunts around I’ll be cunting them!
        Could be a full time job with the amount of cunts in politics alone!

        All the best for 2020 and I too look forward to more of your exceptional commentary on the many cunts out there in the public domain.

  28. New year’s eve is nothing to me – just like any other evening as far as I’m concerned.
    I’ll watch ‘This Sporting Life’ on Talking Pictures TV at 10pm, that way I’ll be able to miss the midnight chimes and the fireworks crap.
    New years eve can sod off.

  29. The way to survive Scottish New Year is to keep on drinking after the last one. And ffs stay away from Edinburgh. I doubt if it is properly celebrated anywhere now, anyway. The Highland village New Year scene ran from the 31st December to the 15th January – it covered the Old New Year, retained by sentimentalists from the pre-reform calendar. I experienced several in the 70’s, and I don’t recall anyone falling over or throwing up; we paced ourselves. There was also guising and house-to-house drinking. There was the minimum of Rabbie Burns, and the tipple was whisky and beer. Only.

    Long gone. The white settlers saw to that.

  30. Well guys the Hogmanay hoot is aboot tae start up here in Edinburgh, an’ the missus has telt me tae get awf the computer and look as though ah’m enjoyin’ masel’. Or else.
    So it just falls to me to wish any cunters still reading a very happy and prosperous New Year. And keep on cunting!!
    All the very best, and guid health!

    Ron

    • Lang may yir lum reek oan some ither bugger’s coal, Ron!
      The Castle fireworks are good, anyway: Happy New Year.

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