Let the past die with the old year
WELL THAT'S it done and dusted for another 360 odd days. The Christmas tree can go back in the attic alongside the ab buster, the kettle bells, the foot spa and the blow up bed. We don't have to eat another bite of turkey for 12 months and those relatives we manage to avoid for the other 51 weeks of the year, can be ignored again with a clear conscience.
We've paid our dues, shared the quality street and watched the Downton Christmas special with them. Our job is done.
Although speaking of television, I don't think I held the remote control in my hand once over the festive season. It was wrenched from my grasp on Christmas eve, and hidden in the coal bucket where they knew I'd never look. (putting coal on the fire is a man's job!!)
As a result all I got to see was Mrs Browns Christmas Special and reruns of Top Gear programmes when they travelled to Bethlehem in three clapped out cars. Still, shouldn't complain. Santa brought me what I asked for - a pink whistling kettle and a book token. He even threw in an iPad because I was such a good girl.
I ate my own body weight in food, which resulted in me having to opt for an unattractive combo of leggings and Christmas jumper for St. Stephens Day, drank copious amounts of wine and generally behaved the way I love most to behave - like a slob. I haven't seen inside a pub since the week before Christmas and my liver isn't thanking me for it! Pub measures are far more liver friendly than home ones and considering my own little system involves pouring a generous measure and then another for "the pot", I'm surprised nobody has checked me into the Betty Ford Clinic.
So now we face into the New Year and that whole business of resolutions, which really are only made to be broken. I toyed with giving up my occasional cigarette, or worse still the demon drink. I even considered giving up my beloved butter or really pushing my personal boundaries and vowing to be nice to everyone......for like six months. ( a year just wasn't realistic! I know my own limitations).
But it was the Ten Year old who got me really thinking in the end. Having asked him why he'd been in such a bad mood earlier in the day, he turned to me and said, "Mum. Leave the past in the past." What good advice. Forget about all those trite little promises, we know we're not going to keep like taking up yoga, or losing a stone, or going to mass every Sunday. What not simply leave the past in the past this new year, forget old grievances, put them behind you and move on.
That, my friends is my New Year's resolution. To the person I overheard bitching about me in the ladies, I forgive you. To the old boyfriend who dumped me on my birthday (miserable git!), it's forgotten. To the employer who made me jobless, after I worked my butt off, don't worry about it. To the friend who turned her back on me when I needed her, it's fine. I'm leaving the past in the past and moving on.
To the husband who refuses to give me custody of the remote control........well that's one which could take a while. I never said I was a saint!!