New Year Irresolutions

Champagne bottles ranging in size
up to the mighty Kennedyaboam

Before I whinge, let me wish one and all a happy and prosperous New Year. Yes, slightly belated, but bugger all else happens on New Year's day so I didn't get round to a blog post either.

This is not my favourite time of year, other than its association with alcoholic excess, for a hundred and one reasons entirely unconnected with the motivations that make me spout my usual collection of poorly informed bile on this blog. These though are very personal ones going back many a year and there is still a a dormant, yet not extinct memory of writing off the dross of the year past and hoping that something good happens in the year to come.

After all, science teaches us that a violently inclined, over-excited white rhino, whose pension scheme was well and truly shafted by the last Chancellor, could spontaneously appear in the row of Commons seats immediately behind the Government front bench midday on any given Wednesday when Parliament is sitting and take its pent-up sexual frustrations on anyone who happens to be leaning over a dispatch box. It's about as likely as our current administration introducing a half decent bill in to the said chamber, true, but as long as it doesn't violate the fundamental rules we can still live in hope.

I'm the sort of person whose likely date of giving up smoking was severely retarded by Patsy Fuckwit's smoking ban, so it goes without saying that I don't really do New Year resolutions where every man, with or without a dog, can watch you fail to keep them, but I will try not to just seethe inside as much as I have done over the festive season and will get back to sharing the rage and what occasionally passes for my take on common sense, from here on in.

Slainte Mhath!