For the sake of Auld Lang Syne
1st February, 2007
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As some weeks have passed since the kiss-and-grope of New Year celebrations, it may be timely to make an objective assessment of what lies ahead. As part of my preparations for 2007, I have just cleaned out the storage cage in the basement. This exercise yielded plaster casts of my feet taken by a podiatrist when, after tiring of falling over my feet, I sough professional help. He took the casts and announced I needed inserts in my shoes. I still fall over my feet and, thanks to the inserts, now do so from a slightly greater height.
I also found two inflatable mattresses and a brace of folding canvas chairs, mementos of an ill-fated decision to once-again embrace the great outdoors. I went camping just before Christmas with my wife when it occurred to us that by the time the tent was erected and the gear unpacked, it was time to go home. I also set fire to my hair trying to light a campfire, but that's another story. A set of flippers also surfaced, a reminder of the time I aspired to a Thorpedo-like physique by taking up swimming. I did two laps, decided that if swimming was not the most boring pastime in the world it was certainly up there in the top three and hung up my budgie smugglers for good. I also found a push mower bought when overcome by a desire to impress my girlfriend and do my bit for greenhouse emissions by abandoning the power mower. I must have been standing in the sun without a hat when I made this decision. I used the mower once, picking it up and throwing it across her courtyard after attempting to push it through ankle-high grass. The cage, then, that repository of broken dreams, has been cleaned up and is now a tidy symbol of my new approach. I have, for example, resolved to refrain from civil disobedience this year after an unfortunate incident last month when we arrived at a friend's place after consuming several festive beverages and, for reasons that remain unclear, took exception to the ineptitude of the state government in its handling of our water supply. To underline the intensity of my feelings, I strode out into the backyard in a state of semi-undress as my wife and friends lay unconscious in the house, turned on the hose full belt and gave the yard a drenching. This, at least, is my less than perfect recollection. I might have dreamt it. It's all a bit hazy. If I did do it, I promise I won't do it again. I also intend to expand my culinary skills and take cooking lessons. My most adventurous undertaking last year was a roast dinner and even then I managed, as one guest impolitely put it, to "burn the arse off" the lamb. Lamb, apparently, is supposed to be pink, not black. When not preparing exotic banquets, I will sort-of be writing a book. I've been talking to myself about doing this for a few years, so the time is right to make a start. I might call it Idiots Who Have Met Me, which would at least guarantee it was a very thick book. Last year was to have been the year I got serious about saving money. I'm not sure what happened but a review of my financial status confirms I am in significantly poorer shape than I was 12 months ago. Perhaps I could combine this year's cost-cutting strategies with my culinary aspirations. Anyone know of a cooking class entitled A Hundred And One Ways to Cook Mince? The book, obviously, is the thing to deliver my long-suffering wife and I from a lifetime of mince. The money would flow in and I would become a literary figure, a man of letters. People would seek me out instead of running away from me and hiding. I'd like to think that I will overcome my shortcomings but became concerned that I had begun on a disturbing note when the apartment intercom buzzed a few days ago and a female voice addressed me.
"How do you know who I am?" I asked.
No, not an encouraging portent for the year ahead. |
