The arrival of the New Year first footer is a special occasion in any house. The first person to cross the threshold at Hogmanay brings all the luck, good or bad, for the coming year. Who will it be? Will they bring whisky and a lump of coal? And will they be tall, dark and handsome? It's no good welcoming a short blond woman after Big Ben strikes, that won't do at all.
I'm standing ready to welcome 2008's first footer to my door. It may already be the third week of January, but this'll be the first pair of shoes to enter my flat since New Year's Day. I'm not counting my own feet, of course, because I don't believe that first footing one's own threshold is permissible under ancient tradition. Instead I've been busily preparing my flat in readiness for the first visitor I've had in ages. The hallway is freshly hoovered, the bathroom towel is hung up, and the ironing board hidden away out of sight. Oh, and the washing up is done and the kitchen sink is gleaming, because that's important. And because I always live in pristine conditions like this, honest.
There he is now, my first footer, puffing up the apartment stairs. He's had to park his vehicle in the McDonalds drive-thru car park down by the flyover, so let's hope the clampers don't get him before his time's up. My premier visitor introduces himself and walks towards my open doorway. Yes he's tall, way over six foot. Yes he's dark, especially that five o'clock stubble all over his chin. And yes he probably was handsome back when his wife fell in love with him, but a good few years have passed since. He'll do. He's the harbinger of my New Year joy, and he's brought me a special Hogmanay gift.
I direct him straight down the hallway and into the second room on the right, inside which he finds the object of his quest. "Is this it?" he asks. How many kitchen sinks does the man think I have, for heavens sake. He twists the cold tap and water slowly fills the basin, even though nobody's yet put the plug in. "Yeah, I've tried everything to unblock it," I say. "A bottle of Mr Muscle, kettlefuls of boiling water, a big pointy straightened wire coathanger, half a bag of soda crystals, unscrewing the U-bend to clear out any gunk, and even this rubber plunger. None of them worked." He laughs at my £1.29 suction cup.
And then my first footer whips out his special gift - a giant plunger. It's the size of an extra-large ice cream cornet, and a vision in blue ribbed rubber. He plonks it down over my clogged plughole and pumps vigorously, three times. Several inches of standing water gurgle rapidly down the open pipe. "Well that looks like it's sorted your problem", he says, and runs the tap again. The sink empties like a dream. I smile, partly because I'll now be able to run my washing machine without flooding the kitchen, but mostly because my landlord will end up paying this plumber's extortionate one-minute call-out bill.
My visitor is leaving. So soon? He's not even had time to notice the shine on the microwave oven, nor the freshly-scrubbed splashback tiles, nor even the elegantly arranged bowl of apples sat on the kitchen worktop. He speeds back down the dust-free hallway, across the pristine welcome mat and disappears out into the night. My first footer has indeed brought good fortune and prosperity upon the household, and my pipework is at last free from obstruction. I stand in my newly evacuated home, toying with the cold tap and admiring my underappreciated shimmering surfaces. I bet they'll all need deep-cleaning again before my second footer arrives. Happy New Year everybody.
