Andy Richardson: Painting the China town red for New Year

There's a crack of pyrotechnics at midnight, a vow to lose weight in January and a little too much Prosecco – followed by a thudding hangover the following morning. By January 28, New Year is already Old Year. The good times have gone all too soon. New Year is a flash-in-the-pan, gone-before-you-know-it kinda festivity.

Oh, and before we go any further, let us know how you got on with those resolutions? Are you still off the booze/fags/Doritos/Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, or did reality bite? I thought so. Pour another one and pass the Cheetos. Cheers.

But there is another way.

When it comes to New Year, the Chinese are world-beating party-throwers. Rather than celebrating for five or six hours, their party lasts for an age and involves billions around the world. Chinese New Year, or Spring Festival, runs for two weeks and people around the globe give gifts, party and celebrate as they herald the Year of the Rooster. Cock-a-doodle-doo.

Forget party poppers, a family tub of Quality Street and a Sainsbury's cheese board – four cheeses for £10, anyone fancy the cranberry and stilton? – the Chinese go XXXXXL when it comes to fun times.

They replace the whizz, bang, pop of British New Year with lion dances, dragon dances – using real dragons, obviously – fireworks, family gatherings and dinners.

They generously give red envelopes and decorate the joint with chunlian, which is a darn sight prettier than the wreaths that garland British front doors at Christmas. The envelopes are the best. The colour red means they're lucky and, if you've been the recipient of one, you'll understand why – they're habitually stuffed with cash.

As sad as many of us will be to bid farewell to 2016's Year of the Monkey, say goodbye we must. Monkeys are sooooo last year. This year is all about the Rooster. And the 2017 version isn't just any old rooster – it's a Fire Rooster. Yowzers. Dial 999. It's a hot-to-trot bird. Roosters are seen as confident, honest and hardworking. Unless they're on fire. In which case they're just plain dangerous.

The Chinese put Brits to shame when it comes to celebrating New Year. But a basic grasp of global culture reveals they're not the only ones. When it comes to weddings, Brits swap homilies at the altar, or register office, before popping off to Tenerife for a week of sun and booking the divorce for three years later.

Indian weddings, in contrast, last for three days. That's right: Three. Days. Brighter is always better and vibrant colours and eye-catching jewellery replaces our white dress and sober suit tradition. The choice between an Indian wedding and a British one is a little like choosing between a wet weekend in Scarborough and a month-long cruise from Cochin to Mumbai.

Mind you, the best wedding I ever went to wasn't in India, it was in Ethiopia. Friends were getting married in Addis Ababa and partied for days. They killed two fatted calves and a goat (poor goat) for the after-party. And there were so many people invited that they booked a room bigger than Wolverhampton's Civic Hall. Two thousand guests – that's Two. Thousand. – ate, drank, danced, whooped and partied until dawn before heading further north to party again in another town. Which is the only way to do it. The day after, we drove into the bush and fired rounds from an AK47, for a laugh, just because we could. The Metropolitan Policeman who was part of our group thought it was ace. Though he was too scardycat to shoot the gun. Wuss.

We shouldn't be surprised by the brilliance, effulgence, lambency and luminance of Chinese New Year.

Sinophiles – that's those of us who love China – think of it as 30-odd countries, rather than one. Like the USA, it has remarkable variety from province to province, from the mountains of Tibet to the sprawl of Shanghai, from the madness of Beijing to the peace of Hainan.

Beijing is like Tokyo on steroids. Vast, imperious and overwhelming, it's a gargantuan city that somehow combines trend and tradition. So while megatron tower blocks rise through the smog in one block, old fellas stand calmly in Beijing's nearby Hutong, going through tai chi routines each morning, oblivious to the 1,000mph citylife.

While stunning new restaurants pop up in Shanghai offering the world's best Hunan and Szechuan cuisine, the mazy Huangpu River winds its twisty way by, impervious and untouched. The city is nothing if not spectacular. Its Park Hyatt Hotel occupies the 79th to 93th floor of the Shanghai World Financial Centre and offers the sort of otherworldly views that you normally only find in Hollywood movies.

From buildings to New Years, from provinces to Fire Roosters, the Chinese don't believe in half measures. So here's to 2017. Here's to dancing dragons and firecrackers, here's to red envelopes and a two-week party. Gong Xi Fa Cai – or a Happy New Year, as they say, in Mandarin.