I’ve never been one for resolutions, new year or otherwise. Much like anything left on the shelf I resolved to put up last year, they’ll gradually slide until falling down the back of the sofa never to be seen again. And besides, I like to keep an element of surprise in our relationship so to brief Janet on her impending disappointments would only be counter-productive.
But that’s not to say I haven’t set myself some goals for the year ahead. Not life-changing goals, mind. I’m not planning to save the disabled donkeys of Djibouti or scale Kilimanjaro on a quest to find myself. For a start, I don’t even know if Djibouti has disabled donkeys in need of saving, and if I did decide to find myself I need only look to the sofa, in bed or on my hands and knees in Poundland scavenging for the last packet of Chocolate Cheerios.… Read the full post