With a kiss at midnight, the millennium of two world wars, the invention of the internal combustion engine and nuclear weapons slipped away into history. As Big Ben sounded its familiar bell and we couldn't quite believe that we had seen Queen Elizabeth II kiss her husband on the cheek in public, a new millennium of promise and fear as well as life and death came rushing in with an explosion of colour and noise.

If the promised River of Flames firework display on the Thames turned out to be little more spectacular than a sparkler on Bonfire Night, then the thunder-clap of fireworks overhead and the incredible intensity of sound that ushered in the new millennium in London's glittering Dome made the fear of going deaf bearable.

Long before the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr George Carey, was allowed just two minutes to remind us all of exactly what we were celebrating - although some people would argue about the timing - 10,000 invited guests, the great and the good of the United Kingdom, were moving to the beat of the same pre-millennium buzz.

Some of them stood wide-eyed at the sheer scale of the Dome, whose central performance arena alone could hold St Paul's Cathedral. Others were huddled in groups worrying about the bug and whether we might end up sipping champagne in the dark.

But it wasn't just that this was a unique, unifying night. Rightly or wrongly, people felt that the Dome was the place to be and the eyes of the world were on Greenwich.

The march of New Labour across the land was encapsulated in the Dome. The Blairs and the Prescotts swept in shortly before midnight, along with most of the cabinet and some Conservative MPs - who were probably grudgingly allowed in since Mr Blair doesn't want to remind people that the Dome was dreamt up by the Tories.

Mick Hucknall, a card-carrying Labour supporter, dressed up in all his finery and sang a few songs and Peter Mandelson was there too to remind us that he was Lord of the Dome before the home-loan fiasco. There was a definite feel-good factor, which someone suggested Mr Blair might put to good use by calling a general election.

There were some complaints and they weren't about Ruby Turner's funky new version of God Save the Queen. Nearly 3,000 guests, some in Wellington boots but many more in dinner suits and ball gowns, were left queuing in the cold at Stratford tube station, which was one of the pick-up points from where guests were brought to the Dome.

Poor planning meant many tickets had not been posted out in time and guests had to queue for up to two hours to get their security passes and "One Amazing Night" complimentary pack which included a specially-minted Millennium Dome coin.

After the chaotic scenes at the tube station, the voice of Andrea from The Corrs, Willard White's moving version of Amazing Grace and Jools Holland's piano-playing did much to soothe the frayed nerves. Unfortunately, on a night when expectations were raised so high, the noise in the Dome meant the singing of the Millennium Resolution to music composed by John Tavener - who was recently knighted - declaring respect for the Earth and love in our lives was barely audible.

If some were disappointed by the unexpected lull and hurriedly read prayers shortly before midnight, sprits were raised again by the sight of Queen Elizabeth joining hands with Mr Blair for Auld Lang Syne and a spirited singalong with Lennon and McCartney's Let it Be by Cherie Blair.

Once midnight truck, and the huge golden drapes surrounding the central arena were released to reveal the vast Dome in all its technicolour beauty, the biggest party of the night really got under way.

Then, in a magical moment freeze-framed in the memory, it began to snow inside the Dome. It was fake snow, but as it landed in our hair and on our clothes as we saw in the first moments of the 21st century, it didn't matter.