BACK in the days when I went to parties and pubs on New Year's Eve, when I was young and daft enough to negotiate icy pavements in high heels with a bellyful of cheap cider, I was the butt of jokes because of my midnight phobia.

It wasn't just any midnight I dreaded - it was the one taking us from the old year to the new one. I dreaded the New Year's Eve countdown; I'd get panic-stricken about leaving the year behind and heading into the unknown. The panic sometimes started about 7.30pm, depending on how much cheap cider I'd consumed.

Once the first verse of Auld Lang Syne was over I was fine, it was merely the build-up to a new year that made my palms sweaty.

It's a phobia that has entertained friends and relatives over the years and every December 31, at about 9pm, I receive texts from people I haven't seen for ages asking if I'm "getting nervous yet". My nephews take pleasure in teasing me during the run-up to midnight at New Year get-togethers.

These days I humour them, and pretend to be scared, because I don't really have the phobia anymore. Despite my midnight fear, or maybe because of it, I used to love New Year's Eve and found it all quite exciting. Maybe it's an age thing, but it doesn't have the same appeal anymore.

I remember as a child being allowed to stay up to "see in the new year". My parents and their friends played tipsy games, someone knocked on the door at midnight clutching a piece of coal (do people still do that?) and a Scottish man in a kilt was singing on the telly. I couldn't see what all the fuss was about.

But a few years later, when I discovered flirting and cheap cider, New Year's Eve was fun. It was a flurry of clumsy embraces - albeit with boys you spent the first hour of the new year trying to avoid - it was exciting, and remained so for the next decade or two.

Now I'm barely aware that New Year's Eve is upon us, until it's time to go home from work and colleagues call: "See you next year" with a smirk. By 10pm I'm usually standing in someone's kitchen eating quiche, with people pointing to the clock, shouting: "Are you scared yet?"

Tonight though, I won't pretend to fear the midnight hour. I'll welcome it with open arms. This year has been my worst ever, for various reasons, and I can't wait to see the back of it. Old Father Time can take a hike. Bring on 2015!