I got annoyed with the new year coverage on the BBC yesterday. Suddenly New Year's has become a major focus for life-changing-ness hype. "This is it, get ready to wipe the slate clean, here comes a brand new year" etc. etc. in the overstated tone of a match of the day style commentator.
As if we aren't going to face all the old foibles, faults and failures in this new year. And what really gets me is that it's so arbitrary. We've decided that this month of a certain length will, when it ends, herald in a complete new sequence of 12 months of irregular lengths. What exactly are we celebrating? Humanity's capacity to impose some sense of quantifiability on eternity? I guess if we can't control time, then at least we can measure it and pretend to have the upper hand.
That all sounds rather brooding and pessimistic. So, on a less navel-gazing note: I had a better New Year's night than my friend Chezza who got back to her house (Chez Chezza) in the wee small hours to find water pouring down the inside of her window. Here's hoping she gets it sorted soon.