I get why people go nuts for New Year's – big blowout parties, cork popping countdowns and such. It’s because we need punctuation marks in our lives to stop us feeling like it’s one continuous crawl from the cradle to the grave. But New Year’s Eve is a victim of its own success, it’s anti-climatic to the core, and usually, never anything but a let-down. Yes, you drank too much and broke the ‘quit smoking’ resolution by going straight outside for a fag before they even finished the last verse of Auld Lang Syne. But far worse than that is now the person you passionately kissed at midnight is snoring next to you in bed and 2018’s dishes are still piled in the sink. Nothing’s changed, you just have a level 10 hangover and are now in your overdraft.