Three New Year Resolutions I’ll Never Keep

Posted by on January 2, 2017 in Blog, Living today, Nostalgia, Uncategorized, Wishes | 0 comments

Desert camel/Nerissa Alford/flickr

Desert camel/Nerissa Alford/flickr

1   Drink More Water

Actually, ‘more’ doesn’t even come into it  as I don’t drink any. I know that I should, and that if I did I should miraculously look ten years younger and have masses of energy, but even that is not enough. I have tried, honest, but I rarely get to the bottom of a cup of tea, as I usually forget I’ve got it and wander off. And when I’m confronted with water – such as at a restaurant – well, I just don’t want it.

There are advantages to this camel-like existence, of course: if you don’t drink much you don’t need to go to the loo much either, and I should perhaps have capitalised on this and become a foreign correspondent, since the  whereabouts of the next loo is a constant preoccupation for them.


2  Divide bulbs

I have, painfully and over a very long time, picked up the basics of gardening, and gone so far as to test my soil and plant things where they will get the right amount of shade and sunlight, etc. , but bulb-wise, my garden is a failure. I planted masses of bulbs in an early flush of enthusiasm and for a few years was rewarded by a dazzling display. Inevitably, the bulbs ran out of steam, and the numbers of flowers bothering to show up every year dwindled, so I took the plunge and divided them. I didn’t seem to be able to master that natty technique with two forks that you are supposed to apply, and I ended up just pulling the shrieking little bulblets apart. Then I stuck them in the shed and forgot about them. It’s perhaps not surprising that when I did get round to planting them,  nothing happened. Needless to say, I’m not highly motivated to try that again. (Even the profligate approach has not paid off, as squirrels have made off with the new bulbs I planted , even the ones I put in window boxes in the hope that proximity to the house would deter them.)


3 Stop sleeping on the sofa

The only way to prevent this would be to replace our comfy sofas with stern Presbyterian settles, and I’m not quite ready for that. I could just not sit on the sofa at all after supper, but then I wouldn’t even catch ten minutes of the news, and would end up still more ill-informed than I already am. There is something deeply troubling to think that the most abiding image of me that my children will have is of a comatose couch potato, but it’s probably a bit late to do anything about that now.  And besides, the prospect of putting my feet up and my head down is just so seductive . . .

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So there you have it: as for the last twenty years at least, I shall be entering the new year as a dehydrated narcoleptic with a garden untroubled by spring blooms – but hey, it works for me . . .

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