Rupert Goodwins' Diary

Monday 31/12/2001

It's 23:55 on the 31st of December, and in a sumptuous mansion in Richmond the champagne is nicely on ice. I, on the other hand, am in a terraced house near Peckham and I'm struggling with a £10 Chinese radio I've woozily hooked into a stubbornly taciturn stereo amplifier -- for some reason, the party people want to hear the chimes on Radio 4. Perhaps they sound more authoritative than on the telly.

But there are other wireless problems. This year more than ever, absolutely everyone I know has finally got a mobile and there's a list of festive text messages to get out as the Cava warms in the glass. And this year, as ever, the networks give a communal shudder at the stroke of midnight and depart for their own party. Frustratingly, a couple arrive but on no account will my little darlings deign to leap into the air. NOT SENT, says the mobile. My first New Year's resolution is to keep trying...