New Year used to make me sweat. It wasn’t just my hangover or waistline (both thicker than normal). It was the knowledge that all my vows to become a better person over the next twelve months would, by the middle of February, be toast. No, not toast. A slab of full fat cheese on top of a bacon buttie washed down by a quart of whisky.
At last I’ve found the answer. For 2013 I’m making resolutions which I have 100% chance of keeping. I’m going to:
· Give up drinking beer in thimbles. Although it’s great for your brain/hand co-ordination, it involves a lot of spilt liquid and stained settees. Besides, my wife’s continually complaining about her bleeding fingers.
· Give up making advances to strange women. It’s a bad habit. No more striking up inappropriate conversations with women who knot harpoons into their hair or end every sentence with a word in Sanskrit. I wasn’t getting very far with those types anyway.
· Give up the Triathlon. OK, I’ve never actually done the Triathlon, but for a day during this year’s Olympics, I had fantasies of emerging dripping from the water like Colin Firth in “Pride & Prejudice”, clambering onto a bike and punching the air as I ride through rows of adoring punters. It’s terribly bad for the health.
On the positive side, I’m going to take up:
· Power walking. My aims are realistic: I’m going to do my power walks solely between the coffee maker and the fridge when I’m hunting for milk. I lose my guilt, I lose my flab, I keep my caffeine rush. Win win.
· Community activism. No man is an island. From now on, I’m helping my neighbours out. I can see some teenagers lobbing beer cans into the hedge. No holding back. I’m going out to help them.
Happy New Year.