Remember the Numskulls from the Dandy comic? Those tiny little guys living in a man’s brain, controlling all his body functions? They are are alive and well and currently choreographing a tap dance routine in my head. At least, that’s what it feels like they’re doing. They might well be laying tarmac along my frontal lobe; the sensation is similar.
It is New Year’s Day and I am in recovery.
I seem to be getting less good at the whole New Year thing. I sit more, drink more, talk more and hurt more the next day.
Gone are the New Years of old spent crushed by sweaty strangers in crowds at parties, or doing that special kind of torso dancing one is obliged to do in very high heels. You know the thing: everything north of the hips moves, but the feet remain planted on the dance floor, secured by a sticky mess of alcohol and the remnants of dessert.
Happy days of yore when, if we got to 11.30pm and I hadn’t got my legs wrapped around a pillar or somebody else’s husband (for support, obvs), it was a damned shabby party.
These days, I can barely get through a game of Bananagrams. In fact, last night, after a sublime piece of belly pork shared with friends, we none of us had the will to even unzip the banana.
So New Year is changing. I’m glad really. As a younger woman I’d come up with impossible resolutions for myself.
These have included:
1) Learn the guitar. I bought a whole online tutorial. Never made it past Lesson Three (‘Wild Thing’ is where I gave up but I am happy to give you a rendition for a fee). My blue guitar gently weeps beside me, a sullen reminder of my lack of commitment.
2) Listen to some French every day to improve language skills. Turns out there aren’t enough hours in the day for all the bloody English I need to listen to. Anyway this is Brexit Britain now, so I doubt any handsome, urbane, cultured Frenchmen will ever want to speak to me again. Silver linings, huh?
3) Be kinder to the people in my life I struggle to connect with. I tried, I really did. The aspiration was a noble one but I downgraded it do ‘be silent and resist violence’. It seemed more achievable.
4) Finish novel/screenplay/radio drama. I’m one of those delusional types.
There have been some successes. Ok, just the one. In 2003 I resolved to get my nails done regularly. I stuck to this resolution until my trip to Indonesia in September 2016. Even the most expensive manicure will meet its match wild camping.
With age come a handful of useful realisations. Prime among them is that New Year resolutions are not good for the soul. Please know you are already Good Enough. You will not be a better person because you dropped a stone or gave up drinking or took up kettle bells (although you might become a more boring one). You do not need to test yourself in this way.
Last year, I had a number of other useful realisations. These included:
1) You do not need to have your nails done, especially when HMRC are hovering wraith-like in your aura pointing at your tax bill.
2) You are capable of cleaning your own house (see HMRC motivational inspiration above).
3) The company of a dog is a unique joy.
4) Deep violet eye liner is softer but equally impactful as black.
5) You will never finish anything if you don’t start it in the first place.
My aim now is to set a few manageable goals throughout the year. Last summer I decided to start getting rid of stuff. Stuff I didn’t need, didn’t wear, didn’t like but to which I had become accustomed.
I had grown used to opening the wardrobe and seeing dresses I hadn’t worn since the Millennium. A refugee camp for bills and other important but tedious mail had grown up around the radio in the kitchen. My bathroom shelves housed innumerable bottles of unguents and potions I’d long since grown bored of or allergic to.
I got rid of the lot. Gradually. My house looks better for it and my head feels better too (more space for Numskulls to do their clog dancing/construction work/band practice).
So this month’s achievable goal: sort out underwear! Throw away unflattering or geriatric pants! I know I can do it.
And then I’ll finish that bloody novel.
Happy New Year.
