There must be a point in every family when the parents of teenage children realise they are no longer the ones able to party all night and that the next generation is upholding the traditions of behaving badly at celebratory gatherings.
But for some of us, it is hard to admit it.
For me, the realisation dawned at around 3am on the morning after Boxing Day when The Teenager and many teenage cousins, plus assorted girlfriends and boyfriends, took their impromptu party down to the basement in my sister’s house as too many of us parents were complaining about the noise from their loud music and raucous singing along in the kitchen.
Time was, my siblings and I would have given them a good run for their money before admitting defeat and retiring to bed.
This time, I had been propped up in bed reading a book since 11.30 and kept thinking “well, they must be tired – we’ve just got through Christmas. They’ll want to go to bed soon” like someone wearing a bonnet in a period drama.
Don’t get me wrong – our generation had managed some pretty spectacular misbehaviour over the preceding days.
One brother-in-law had fallen in spectacular fashion on to a particularly well-decorated table in my sister’s hallway as he attempted a jaunty farewell manoeuvre on his way out after sampling my nephew’s “special cocktails”.
I’m not sure if anything was broken – on him or the table.
Come to think of it, my nephew’s cocktails were also behind many of the other incidents which will go down in family festive history.
However, stamina-wise, we let ourselves down and were all a little loathe to realise it.
So I shall be spending the rest of 2017 in training. By December, I shall be match-fit and ready to stay up all night, raising the roof and singing along to the thumping beat until the early hours. Whilst downing shots, natch. That’s the kind of New Year training I am willing to take on board.
Wish me luck in this fearless endeavour.