My New Year's resolution? To be in bed by 7pm
For anyone remotely interested in this writer’s seasonal resolutions – in which event, the official advice is to request an urgent cerebral MRI – the news is as follows. This New Year, I am mostly resolving to eschew whining about the horrors of the New Year. I wilfully refuse, for instance, to trot out the usual reflections on shuffling about in a tattered dressing gown, pausing only to glance at the bottle of VSOP strychnine gazing alluringly back from the medicine cabinet. Nor will I drone on about the greyness of the skies, the financial impossibility of adequately heating this house, the certainty that the Christmas tree will still be in situ for Wimbledon, or any of the other ritualistic bleak-midwinter drivel that has anchored this page to the sea-bed of unreadability for so long. What I will state is this. My other resolution for 2026 – a year that...
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