So there we have it. Yet another new year I have seen in as a singleton. However, this time around I refused to be a victim of the cruel date.

I rejected the idea of a nightclub as – like Christmas Eve – you have to suffer inflated prices, long queues and sticky revellers who can’t handle their drink.

Parties are always fun when you are in a relationship, but they are no friend to the unattached on December 31.

However, the most annoying thing about this date is the fawning couple.

These are the people who will stop a conversation mid-word to gaze lovingly into their partner’s eyes and start nuzzling.

At its most extreme, these lovebirds will use baby voices as they cuddle, oblivious to how horribly uncomfortable it makes everyone within eye or earshot.

I don’t mind unhappy couples for whom the annual peck on the cheek is more a sign of grim resignation than romantic intent, but the former is too revolting to bear.

To avoid these horrors I had envisaged a nice night in crying myself to sleep, but at the last moment opted to pop around to see a friend who also hates other people’s happiness.

After a few pubs we took some beer home so we could shut the event out entirely. If New Year’s Eve was not going to do the right thing by me, I was not going to acknowledge it.

As we ate pizza and chatted I started to reflect on my past year. I have met women in the snow, up mountains, walking on hot coals and even skinny-dipping in the Mediterranean.

I reconsidered the list of harsh resolutions I had been planning to take on.

Perhaps it had not been such a bad year after all.