I always used to be the first out in the garden with a glass of Champagne to bring in the new year, watching everyone’s fireworks light up the sky.
But somehow, I knew this New Year’s Eve would be our most difficult yet.
This year could see me turning into a cross between Victor Meldrew and Andy Murray
Last time, our son Freddie slept through all the explosions.
As we held a dinner party, the dogs were happy with our company as my mate Graham let off what looked like a box of TNT you’d see Wile E Coyote use to catch the Road Runner.
The only thing the same about this New Year’s Eve was that Freddie again slept through as our new neighbours let off a batch of fireworks that Gunwharf Quays would have been proud of.
By 10.30pm we were exhausted and falling asleep in front of the telly. We decided to call it a night.
By the time five-week-old Holly had fed, it was 11.15pm.
Just as I switched off the lights, the fireworks started to pop and crackle outside and, true to form, the dogs started to go ballistic.
Being ‘head of dog welfare’ in the Jackson household, it was up to me to try to settle them.
So what did I do? I sat in the kitchen comforting them until 1am.
Was it a mistake to let them up to sleep with us?
Holly woke for another feed at 2.30am and by the time I got back into bed and switched off the light, Harvey our golden retriever started to bark. It was 3.30am.
I knew that bark. Action stations! I let him out into the garden and as he ran, he backfired in such a way it reminded me of Del Boy’s three-wheeler in Only Fools And Horses.
Back to bed, but then more barking at 6.30am – and the same result for the poor garden.
Surely the night couldn’t get any worse? It was almost over anyway.
At 7.30am, Freddie woke up and so my day began. By the time he’d had his breakfast, I had to leave for work.
With a chest infection and hardly any sleep, I’m willing to admit it wasn’t my best radio show.
This year could see me turning into a cross between Victor Meldrew and Andy Murray.