It's nearly upon us, New Year, and with New Year comes New Year's Resolutions. Our annual character self-assassination. Regret-soaked promises to change for the better. Our vows to work harder at being perfect, become a 21st century interpretation of Michelangelo's David, ideal in every way, golden in proportion, honed, serene, and universally venerated. We stare at our bloated, tired, pallid bodies in the mirror, repulsed and guilt-ridden, then slavishly hang, draw and quarter ourselves, piece by piece. We all do it; it's mass flagellation of the highest order. And so then the bacchanalian orgy of eating, drinking, loving, fighting, and slobbing that is Christmas is replaced overnight with a puritanical knee-jerk instigation of starvation, teetotalism, and an exercise regime that would suit an Olympic athlete. We vow not to swear. Instead we will enrich our conversation with a new word learnt each day from the Oxford English Dictionary. We must work harder whilst simultaneously spending more time with the family. We will cook from scratch. Every day. Out damned pizza! Be gone ye cheating ready meals! The pure, addictive EVIL that is chocolate will forevermore be replaced with broccoli, grilled chicken, and celery. We must have more sex. Or less. We must moan less, laugh more, vegetate less, read more, and we must absolutely, definitely, cross-our-hearts-and-hope-to die, stick-a-needle-in-the-eye, NOT watch Britain's Got Talent...
On Saturday my resolutions will be as follows:
1 I will not eat anything with sugar in it, so will be two stone lighter by March.
2 I will run three miles five times a week, so will be two stone lighter by March.
3 I will limit Twitter usage to ten minutes per day.
4 I will listen to, and heed, the advice given to me by those wiser than I.
5 I will not shout at my children. At all. No matter what they do. Even if they walk muddy boots through the house just after I've mopped the floor. Yep. No shouting. None.
Mark Twain, a man far wiser than I, once wrote:
New Year's day...is now the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual.
So with some careful searching through the words of those wiser than I, then listening to, and heeding, the advice (and therefore fully abiding by Resolution Number 4), I can happily restart scoffing chocs, slobbing, Tweeting, and shouting on Monday 2nd January 2012, safe in the knowledge that keeping to one of my five resolutions will absolutely, definitely, bring me closer to that David-esque ideal. Brilliant!!
Happy New Year! xx