25 Apr 1997 Justin B Rye

Those who think the twenty‐first century starts in the year two thousand simply have no idea which way their bread is buttered.  Never mind the fact that they just can't count; the reason I despise premature enumerators – such as the makers of “Strange Days” or last year's Doctor Who movie – is that they're trying to cheat us out of a party!

The 31 Dec 99 knees‐up is a celebration of

But then twelve months later we're due another big party for

What are the can't‐count‐won't‐count crowd going to be doing that night?  Having a drab, run‐of‐the‐mill hogmanay, whilst simultaneously pouring scorn on the numerate party‐loving minority as a bunch of pedantic spoilsports?

Fortunately this (plus the debates over what to call the decade after the nineties, whether to say “two thousand and twelve”, “two thousand twelve”, or “twenty‐twelve”, and indeed how to spell “millennium”!) is all academic, since we know the world is going to end on 23 Oct 97* – the world's six‐thousandth birthday, according to Archbishop Ussher's calculations.  And if you believe that one, check out the page titled Groovy… or if not, try my review of Heinlein's Y2k prophecies.