…and Diet Coke. There are worse ways, and even less healthy ones, to see out the end of a year.
I’m doing this one alone, like Xmas, and like each year going back. As I don’t have a TV, there shalln’t even be Jools Holland’s Hootenanny, which when I last watched it, looked a bit too obviously recorded in October to be convincing. So there’ll just be me, whatever fireworks my neighbours have lined up for this year, and some fine and private thoughts.
I’m not doing any summaries either. Just get this over with, get it out of the way and on to the next one. I’m going alone, even though I know a perfectly nice forum where I would be welcomed with virtual open arms. Sometimes things happen and then you’re trapped in your own flaws.
So to all those who have read here in 2016, I wish you the year that will be best for you, the fulfillments you most need, the love that warms you the most and, given just who takes over the Free World in January, access to the best nuclear bunker available. We are who doomed to the cinderball this planet might easily be by next December salute you.
Happy New Year.