It is not only another year, but another decade, brought on in a fit of full moon – blue moon – madness, and soaring over us with snow, frost, deep set ice, thin skating ice, blue fingers, red fingers, shortages of cheap heaters and value paracetamol.

And what do we resolve to do?

For myself, fly this landmass for another, a hotter, a place where there are deep dreams of petty crimes and wide open spaces and shivering heat which induces fat tongued hallucinations.

Swim. Submerge weekly, in the manner of a cat surprised by the smooth sides of a bath and its fullness, and aim to gain, if not a phenomenally athletic physique, then at least a sense of well being. All forecasts point instead to a head cold and aching muscles, but I have my business-like school issue swimsuit (purchased circa 2000, thank you speedo and your eternal elastic) and my determination.

Write. No more lover excuses, coursework excuses. Pen to paper to keys to scrap bin and repeat ad nauseam. If I am no good, and cannot exorcise it with practice, then I this will, at the least, be the year I find out.

Be as kind as I can, as often as I can.

Forgive more.

Buy a decent grater.

Dance.

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