Finally. We’re here. The end of another year. And like a bunch of avaricious relatives around the death bed of an uncle no one ever spoke of when alive, we all gather as he breathes his last to reminisce and commiserate. For who thinks of a year when it is a breathing, living thing running swiftly from day to week to month? Who cheers for it from the sidelines half way through the race? No, we all ignore it until it begins it's last leg limping towards the finish line.
These last few days of a year are always a confusing time for me. Should I start my healthy living regime now or stuff as many brownies in to my mouth as it will possibly allow ? Should I take my complete inertia to write as natural year end laziness or a premonition of a whole year of blank notebook pages? Should my good intentions kick in now or can I afford to wait for a few more days?
I also hate all the ‘best of’ lists. They only make me feel inadequate – the books I haven’t read, the movies I haven’t seen, the exhibitions I never got tickets for, the plays and musicals I missed and the bands I never heard of. It makes me realise how much I’ve missed out on and wonder exactly what I was doing instead (and if I can’t remember then I was either doing some pretty boring things this year or was very drunk).
Well anyhow, the year is almost done and there’s no changing it. And looking back (come on, did you really think I was going to abstain from my retrospective look at a year spent living under a rock? Don’t worry I won’t go in to any details) there’s little I would change. There have been some fabulous holidays, good movies, great books and one very uncharacteristic job quit.
That’s about all I can manage for now. It’s hard typing when one hand is entirely devoted to stuffing divine pieces of chocolate heaven in to my mouth.
If I don't see you all again, Happy New Year!