I have decided this New Year’s Eve not to make any more resolutions and in so doing have made yet another resolution, or so that is how the joke goes. Well, come the bells I wasn’t eating grapes – I don’t live in Spain anymore – , I wasn’t singing Old Lang Syne – though I tried, I was shushed by my Hungarian family who had all arisen from their pre-midnight-layabout to the glory of their national anthem – but I was sipping Champagne, or at least some Cava and Pezsgo, and I was enjoying the localised fireworks displays  which have come to signify suburbia, I guess everywhere these days.

What else? Well, some eighteen hours later and sitting here typing this, I realise there is nothing left to say. I had some grandiose notion to record an emotion but that was thwarted some hours ago by responsibility. Do I expect 2015 to be better than 2014? Why should I? The date, the change is merely numerical. Surely for most people the difference between today and yesterday is the hangover, the memory of the shameful deeds  done while under the influence, the lost expectations, but beyond that this day, a Thursday, is no different to yesterday, or any other Thursday really. Then what is left to surmise concerning all things new and glorious? Nothing!


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