Well, it's time to sign off for 2008. It's been an okay year so far. Some work difficulties earlier in the year which spilled over into my personal life, my dad's ongoing trips to the doctor and my nephew falling off the changing table from a great height (he's fine), and my three quite painful verucas I could have done without, but apart from that, all's ticked along nicely.
So who's looking forward to next year? 2009 eh? That looks weired doesn't it? It only seems like yesterday we were all looking forward to the year 2000 and now it's nearly the end of the Noughties (I've never got used to calling them that) and moving into the, er, what, the Teens? The Tens? It's yet to be decided. But here we are. Time marches on when you're over 30, never to be seen again. I've lived half my life already. Oh dear.
We'll only be three years away from the Olympics and I'll turn 44. Sob. Do you think we'll actually see the Olympics? Won't be all be wiped out in a Survivors-style virus before then? Probably. According to the John Titor website (which is intriguing and I'd like to believe it but it's without doubt bollocks) we won't. Sorry, I'm sounding like Don Estelle, whose frankly barking stream of conciousness vanity-published autobiography was the hightlight of last nights very fun It's A TV Cream Christmas! do, thanks to Steve Berry.
Have you read it? Track it down, it's an absolute must. It's insane. It says to me, small man of whom no one ever really took much notice getting it all of his chest at last. Paragraph two of page one bangs on about the Hitler Youth, apropos of almost nothing. And so it goes on. Not to be missed.
Anyhoo, what I'm looking forward to next year:
Going to Moscow
Work harmony
A new kitchen
Mad Men series 2
Being reinstated on Andrew Collins' blogroll
Launching something fabulous
Good health for all
Until then, a very merry Christmas to you all, thanks for reading - and commenting - and happy New Year.
Now, I'm off for the first of two very big lunches. I may never return.
