Holy Moly, 2012 is just about done and 2013 is inbound–man the battle stations!
For anyone who is worried about whether their New Year plans are cool enough, hip enough, dynamic enough, well, let me step in and make you feel better: I will be watching television with my mum (U.S. trans. “mom”) and dad and Snaffles (the dog).
So whatever you do, it’s more than likely to pip my efforts (though I’m not too fussed; I’m off to Dublin next weekend with my best friend, Big Gay Al, and so will have a sort of delayed celebration there; plus, I think 2013 is going to be quite hectic and so am content to start off slow).
Also, by being mate-less up here at my parent’s place I can get stuck into all the news reviews and media reflections on 2012, which isn’t such a bad thing–a lot happened in 2012 (as tends to be the case any year); and before launching oneself onto the bucking bronco that is the next year, taking a moment to assess and absorb all that has gone before doesn’t seem such a bad idea.
Oh, get over yourself, you overly-analytical, righteous and posturing bore, I hear you say. Okay, guilty–it would be better at some party with one’s friends. What’s to be gained by stewing and revisiting the past? But, still, one senses there’s something to a spot of introspection at this juncture.
We’ll never have 2012 again. Like each day that passes, it will be behind us and beyond us forever more.
Could I get a glass of champagne here, please, I’m starting to bore myself (cocktail tip for the morning of New Year’s Day: “Black Velvet.” Simple to make: fill a glass with half champagne, half Guinness. Good with breakfast, especially salmon and scrambled egg, and for hangovers).
So good luck seeing out 2012, mi amigos, and good luck for two thousand and blooming thirteen.
(Disclaimer: this blog was affected, possibly unduly, by a Leffe beer, while copy edited with the help of a good gin and tonic; nigh on impossible to source in the U.S.– sorry, Uncle Sam, but it’s true; though I’m still coming back for more, for now.)