shewhomust | Meet the New Year...

... same as the old year, as the Who didn't quite say.

Like everyone else, I am hoping that 2021 will be better than 2020 in any number of ways, but maintaining any sort of belief in that hope depends on not expecting too much too soon. These are not the bright sunlit uplands Boris promised us, and insisting they are makes me expect the worst. (Except, of course, in the sense that we have reclaimed sovereignty and cast off the shackles of the EU, and I don't want to talk about that.)

I didn't sit up to see the New Year in. Most years D. and

valydiarosada are with us for New Year, and we stay awake until midnight - or wake up, saying Are we nealy there yet?, but no chance of that this year. A neighbour proposed, a few weeks ago, that we could go out into the street to toast the New Year and each other each in our own choice of festive cup, and at the time I thought it sounded like a pleasant thing to do, but that I would have preferred not to doit oi at midnight... And then the new variant virus came along, and the new régime (it's not a national lockdown, it's just a new tier which covers most of the country, but in separate local rulings), and the suggestion was withdrawn.

So the calendar flipped over while I was asleep, and today has slipped past: I spent all morning watching Spielberg's The Adventures of Tintin and sewing a button onto one of

durham_rambler's shirts. A silly movie and a small but long overdue task, not a bad beginning.

I don't make New Year resolutions: but here are Woody Guthrie's New Year's Rulin's for 1943: Read lots good books... Wake up and fight.