Wednesday, 21 January 2015

New Year's Day

1 January 2015, 10 past midnight

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. 



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:

  1. Stop volunteering for things.  Like being Vice-President.
  2. Learn to use a task list properly. 
  3. Find out what UPC stands for: it’s been bugging me for months.
  4. Start taking things seriously.  Having a sense of humour caused me a lot of problems in 2014.
  5. 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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