Tuesday, 31 December 2013

New Year's Resolutions, and all that jazz. (Why do I bother? I never keep the bl**dy things.)

Right, here goes: time for my New Year's resolutions. They won't take long, seeing as I can sum them up in a single sentence:

"Do everything differently next year, i.e. better."

Oh, and "Ignore over-active imagination", too.

It was Max who insisted I add that second resolution, but he won't tell me what any of his are – so I bet he's planning on everything remaining exactly the same. I can't say I'm surprised, but I bet other people's resolutions are much more interesting.

In fact, I'm so sure that's the case, that I'm going to go and email some of them now, to check. Back in a minute...




As usual, I was right, which is as unsatisfying as it always is. Here's the evidence:

  1. Improve roundhouse kick. Use padding. Don't kick Connie 'til aim improves.
  2. Grow longest beard in whole of UK. 
  3. Find out if wearing hat all the time is why fringe looks like pubic hair.
  4. Prove to Mum and Dad how much they favour bloody Connie.


  1. Find permanent contract after uni so don't ever have to move back to Mum and Dad's and live with Josh again.
  2. Pay Josh back for everything annoying he's ever done. Could take years.
  3. Get exposure therapy for thin hair/sticky-out-ears phobia, in case can only get customer-facing job.
  4. Prove to Mum and Dad how much they favour bloody Josh.


  1. Avoid all foods that newspapers say are bad for you. (Keep up-to-date on what those are.)
  2. Remember not to "like" every single thing on grandchildren's Facebook pages. (They don't like it, for unknown reason.)
  3. Remember not to leave comments on every photograph grandchildren post on Facebook. (They don't like that either.)
  4. Wear pants when leaving house. (Note from Molly: I added this one. The general public owe me a favour.)

Idiot Brother Robin:
  1. Show compassion in everything I do. (Think of Dalai Lama, when require encouragement.)
  2. Buy snakeskin briefcase, and sharkskin shoes. There's no rule saying Buddhists can't look sharp.
  3. Double 2013 winnings at poker.

  1. Sell house. Reduce price if necessary. 
  2. Convince Porn-Poon it will sell, and we can live it up, once it does.
  3. Disown Dinah if she doesn't stop telling people I fly Steradent Airlines every time I go to Thailand.
  4. Disown Cousin Mike for laughing when she doesEvery single bloody time. (He's only jealous.)
  5. Convince authorities to make rugby the Thai national game.

(He says his are in order of priority.)
  1. Lose the man-boobs.
  2. Find girlfriend I fancy but mother doesn't detest. Alternatively, get two girlfriends: one sexy, one not (considerably easier if resolution number one is kept).
  3. Get new job, for sane employer. (Rules out most MPs.)
  4. Drink more gin, until get new job.
  5. Get Molly sectioned if she doesn't also get new job this year.
  6. Sign up for political correctness refresher course. (Molly added this one. She's a wimp.)

The Boss:

  1. Decide whether for or against cycle helmets – once and for all. Can't spend whole life sitting on the fence: just look what that's done for Clegg.
  2. Refuse all requests for live interviews. (Molly added this one. Does she think I can't manage journalists safely by myself? Molly: "Yes".)
  3. Remind students about LibDems' broken tuition fees promise at every opportunity. I'm bound to get re-elected in 2015 if I do.

Greg says another five years of The Boss is a thought too horrible to contemplate, even if we would both be unemployed if Andrew were to lose his seat. 

"At least we'd probably get concessionary gym memberships if we didn't have jobs," he adds, when he phones to check if I received the copy of his resolutions and to find out what The Boss's were. "And we'd have tons of free time to use them, if we didn't have to bother going in to work. I'd definitely lose the man-boobs, then – and get laid."

I haven't got any man-boobs (and not much in the way of woman ones either), but even so, I'll drink to us both achieving the second part of Greg's last sentence. 

Oh, God – no, I won't! I've just read it back, and it sounded as if I meant I'd drink to having sex with Greg myself. That's a worse thought than having no sex at all. Much worse. In fact, I'm so traumatised by the idea, that I'm off to have a very large gin. And then another one, and another.

Happy New Year to all of you. Have a great time tonight, seeing out the old year, but do try to stay sober enough to avoid accidentally sleeping with anyone named Gregory Duke – or Andrew Sinclair (MP). Both may well be on the prowl.

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