When Wednesday dawns I will greet the advent of the new day with a shudder. It's nothing to do with the central heating, just the fact that the arrival of another year is a prospect I get nervous about.

My wife does not share my despair at the disappearance of one year and the emergence of another, so there has always been a divergence of opinion over the relevance of New Year's Eve.

In recent times, though, I have tried to keep my angst under wraps, put on a brave face and pretend I'm comfortable about a spot of gentle partying, followed by New Year's Day at the races.

The latter, I find, is a good way to snap you back in to reality and make you wonder for the umpteenth time, as your chosen nag trots in last, why you opted for journalism rather than a career as a bookmaker.

But all the stress and strain of being positive and focusing on 2009 is still days away. So I have been running through my own personal highs and lows of the past year and, boy, have there been some peaks and troughs.

The highs arrived early. About April time, I guess. Every day I would fairly bound into work, certainly on a Monday morning, knowing every single Rovers' fan there was seething because my team City had inched ever closer to football's Premier League.

In truth, I kept having to pinch myself at their continual success on the pitch.

As each nightfall arrived, I drifted away to dream of Manchester United, Chelsea and Liverpool heading along the Portway and Cumberland Basin.

Close family warned me not to become over-optimistic and then a curious twist of fate conspired to ensure I was away in France on holiday when Bristol City met Hull at Wembley in the promotion play-off final.

It was the end of a very meteorologically indifferent week in Brittany, and my final afternoon on French soil was spent trapped inside a coastal hotel watching torrential rain lash against the window panes.

In the midst of this freakish weather, my daughter back in the UK rang to tell me that City were a goal down.

"Don't ring me again," I told her, somewhat churlishly, "... unless they equalise." I am still waiting for the call. So that was one particular 2008 peak and trough all rolled neatly into one.

There were other much lower moments. For this was a year when we lost three especially close friends – two of them to retirement in New Zealand and one, sadly, more permanently than that.

The latter's absence at Christmas was especially painful as she had always played such a pivotal part in our festivities.

But, back in October, someone else came along which helped assuage our sadness and, instead, fill the void with light and happiness. It was the arrival of our third grandchild, and our first granddaughter, Agatha.

My wife, never one to hold back whenever passing places like Baby Gap, was over the moon as they say sometimes at Ashton Gate. She could buy little dresses again.

Better still, Cabot Circus finally opened, meaning she now finds it impossible to walk past The White Company, too, without rushing in and rummaging through their racks of baby clobber. Little Aggie's presence has been a real fillip for us and an ongoing assault on our joint bank account.

Having said that, it still won't stop my annual emotional wobbles.

So, when the chimes of Big Ben ring out (or your weedy mobile phone alarm chips in with a reminder of the importance of the hour) to herald the arrival of 2009, I will stride into the new year with my usual air of trepidation.

And, you know, my only consoling thought about this wimpish behaviour is that I'm pretty certain I am not alone.

Happy New Year!