New year. Happy orld
langzine and welcome all ye dark-haired first-footers wherever ye be! (And why, oh why, be ye not here?)
Celebrating in style, as is our wont, we let off the family
firework in our garden.
Our neighbours wait a respectful five minutes, and then ignite
several thousand pounds’ worth of Bastille-worthy son et lumière visible from
three miles away.
Oh.
1 January 2015, 10 am
I make my new year’s resolutions. In secret, obviously; I wouldn’t want anyone
to hold me to them.
They are:
- Stop volunteering for
things. Like being Vice-President.
- Learn to use a task list
properly.
- Find out what UPC stands
for: it’s been bugging me for months.
- Start taking things
seriously. Having a sense of humour
caused me a lot of problems in 2014.
- Go and meet more CIPA
members. Because I have absolutely not
never eaten too many cakes and biscuits at all. Also I have not yet visited Cambridge,
Leeds, Manchester, Liverpool, anywhere in Scotland and several other parts
of the UK that may or may not be on the M1. And Scotland has distilleries.
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