TotRockinBeats NYE – How It Started.
You turn to your better-half and start to reminisce about the days when you had a social life. One that didn’t revolve around the people you met at the school gates.
A social life that means N.Y.E held an amazing promise of excitement. The weeks of gossiping with your bezzies about where you were going to go and what you were going to do. The dressing up, the unknown promise of the drunken snogs with random strangers, and the type of camaraderie that was sung by Jarvis Cocker back in the dizzy heights of the 90s. (Remember those?)
Now you are middle-aged. Your joints ache, and you make involuntary noises, getting up off the sofa or putting your socks on. N.Y.E holds about as much atmospheric promise as a trip to B&Q with the in-laws on a soggy Sunday.
Now that was me up and till four years ago. It was then that I had an idea. What if I put on a party and invited all the people who felt the same way, as I did?
We’d play the type of music we wanted to hear. Have a few bevvies, a dance, a lot of laughs, have the chance to get dressed up like we used to. The only difference is that we’d do it early enough that the kids could join in and not meltdown, and nobody would have an issue with babysitters. That idea became TotRockinBeats and ended up changing my life.
Twelve months to the day I was stood on the stage of the Assembly Hall in Worthing, in front on 1200 people and celebrated midnight at 6 pm. A Wurlitzer organ appeared playing a mash-up of Star Wars and David Bowie. A 97-year-old lady called Vera Chalmers became the world’s oldest ever DJ playing the wartime classic ‘We’ll meet again’ to an adoring audience.
Had I not moved to Worthing, I would not have met any of the beautiful community of people that make it all happen. The theatre managers, the DJs, the circus performers, the street dancers, the magazine editors, the volunteers, the partners we work with or any of the mums and dads that come, many of who have become excellent friends.
The outside world tends to write-off this glorious town of ours as some kind of Gods’ waiting room or the poor relation to our glorious and glamorous cousin, Brighton. They really don’t have a bloody clue. Say it once, say it loud, I’m Worthing and proud.
Until next year pop-pickers, from the bottom of my heart, I hope you ‘Ave it large this N.Y.E.
Larger than Big Daddy and Giant Haystacks in an all you eat buffet. Larger than Fatboy Slim on Brighton Beach.
Larger than the paddy my 6-year-old had when I told him I’d eaten the rest of his leftover Halloween sweets. Well, actually not that large. That would be excessive…
Until 2019, I’m out.