albeit it a little late – but then, punctuality isn’t my strong point.
From my window, the new year currently looks very similar to the old one, courtesy of yet more snow.
And apparently, there’ll be more snow later today.
The winter has already been far too long.
Usually, I spend hours reading the first Sunday papers of a new year as they’re full of retrospective lists – the best and worst of this and that. Yesterday’s papers were a terrible disappointment, however: no ‘best of’ lists at all, they were all predictions for next year. I could, I suppose, make my own lists, but much of the enjoyment of others’ lists comes from their reminders of what you have forgotten.
So, I have spent wasted much time this morning, mooching round the web looking for lists of ‘the best books of 2010’ . Here’s one from the TLS, for example, but it’s one of scarce resource. This is a pity, and more so when you consider the many articles that appear in June and July listing the ‘ten best summer reads’, suggesting that people read only as a way of passing time on a poolside sunbed, during the lengthy business of gaining a tan.
New year’s resolutions? I like making resolutions – and like the sound of resolving to do something even more. The process somehow makes me seem more viable (to myself, at least). Today I am devoid of resolutions – devoid of any kind of resolution whatsoever, in fact. Today, even making a pot of tea requires unattainable levels of backbone and resolution. I’ll say this very quietly so it’s less likely to come true, if it isn’t already: I think I may have flu.
