My res­o­lu­tion for the New Year? Why not sim­ply leave the past in the past, I say


WELL THAT'S it done and dusted for an­other 360 odd days. The Christ­mas tree can go back in the at­tic along­side the ab buster, the ket­tle bells, the foot spa and the blow up bed. We don't have to eat an­other bite of turkey for 12 months and those rel­a­tives we man­age to avoid for the other 51 weeks of the year, can be ig­nored again with a clear con­science. We've paid our dues, shared the qual­ity street and watched the Downton Christ­mas spe­cial with them. Our job is done.

Although speak­ing of tele­vi­sion, I don't think I held the re­mote con­trol in my hand once over the fes­tive sea­son. It was wrenched from my grasp on Christ­mas eve, and hid­den in the coal bucket where they knew I'd never look. (putting coal on the fire is a man's job!!)

As a re­sult all I got to see was Mrs Browns Christ­mas Spe­cial and re­runs of Top Gear pro­grammes when they trav­elled to Beth­le­hem in three clapped out cars. Still, shouldn't com­plain. Santa brought me what I asked for - a pink whistling ket­tle and a book to­ken. He even threw in an iPad be­cause I was such a good girl.

I ate my own body weight in food, which re­sulted in me hav­ing to opt for an unattrac­tive combo of leg­gings and Christ­mas jumper for St. Stephens Day, drank co­pi­ous amounts of wine and gen­er­ally be­haved the way I love most to be­have - like a slob. I haven't seen in­side a pub since the week be­fore Christ­mas and my liver isn't thank­ing me for it! Pub mea­sures are far more liver friendly than home ones and con­sid­er­ing my own lit­tle sys­tem in­volves pour­ing a gen­er­ous mea­sure and then an­other for “the pot”, I'm sur­prised no­body has checked me into the Betty Ford Clinic.

So now we face into the New Year and that whole busi­ness of res­o­lu­tions, which really are only made to be bro­ken. I toyed with giv­ing up my oc­ca­sional cig­a­rette, or worse still the de­mon drink. I even con­sid­ered giv­ing up my beloved but­ter or really push­ing my per­sonal bound­aries and vow­ing to be nice to ev­ery­one......for like six months. ( a year just wasn't real­is­tic! I know my own lim­i­ta­tions).

BUT IT was the Ten Year old who got me really think­ing in the end. Hav­ing asked him why he'd been in such a bad mood ear­lier in the day, he turned to me and said, “Mum. Leave the past in the past.” What good ad­vice. For­get about all those trite lit­tle prom­ises, we know we're not go­ing to keep like tak­ing up yoga, or los­ing a stone, or go­ing to mass ev­ery Sun­day. What not sim­ply leave the past in the past this new year, for­get old griev­ances, put them be­hind you and move on.

That, my friends is my New Year's res­o­lu­tion. To the per­son I over­heard bitch­ing about me in the ladies, I for­give you. To the old boyfriend who dumped me on my birth­day (mis­er­able git!), it's for­got­ten. To the em­ployer who made me job­less, af­ter I worked my butt off, don't worry about it. To the friend who turned her back on me when I needed her, it's fine. I'm leav­ing the past in the past and mov­ing on.

To the hus­band who re­fuses to give me cus­tody of the re­mote con­trol........well that's one which could take a while. I never said I was a saint!!

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