This Year, Everything Will Be Different,

                              I will be kinder, more patient, eat less, exercise more, read improving books, leave behind childish and frivolous things, help the aged and succour the young, always wash dishes after a meal and not wait until the next morning, sew on buttons the moment they come off and long before I need to hunt for a matching one in the button tin, and I will never ever give anyone cause to find me ‘scary’ again.

Sally and Frank walked Millie today; standing on the doorstep, Sally confided that after we had left yesterday’s party, another ‘friend’, in the course of a quick explanation about us behind our back (you know the sort of thing, a new acquaintance asks casually “who are these people” in the nicest possible way), this ‘friend’ - you note the inverted commas! - tells the new acquaintance a few pertinent facts about us, finishing off by saying: “Friko can be a bit SCARY sometimes”.

Scary? I am a PUSSYCAT, I’ll have you know.

So, for about two minutes, under the above heading,  I thought of becoming a brighter, sweeter, leaner, fitter, kinder me in 2014.

The problem is that it is 2014 now and I would therefore have to make a start instantly. Have you seen the weather? Have you seen how dark and gloomy it is and how persistent the rain lashes the windows? Have you heard the slates on the roof rattle in the wind ? The baubles are packed away for another year, the candles have been extinguished and the lingering smell of myrrh and frankincense is turning a bit rancid. Villagers are exhausted after the relentless festive jollities, although it helps that grandchildren have waved a fond farewell and are once more the sole responsibility of their parents. Hibernation seems an admirable plan to follow. Leavened by chocolates, schmaltzy TV, and a lot of reclining on sofas with a not-necessarily-improving book, and a sprinkle of self-indulgent outings now and then to ensure that life support systems remain functional.

If double-faced Janus, the Roman God who looks back to the old and forward to the new year, who gave this  long, dreary month its name, cannot make up his mind which way to march, who am I to decide for him?  By the time January is over, any pious resolve as to improvement of character will have got buried under the paving slabs of the road to hell, so why bother?

On second thoughts, no New Year’s Resolutions for me.