2008

2008. New Year’s resolution? To stop offering hostages to fortune.

The year so far has included two nasty hangovers, a dose of man-flu, a couple of grumpy exchanges with Thames Water, and a nagging sense that my tax needs sorting out. Why would anybody celebrate New Year?

Sarah and I went to see the fireworks on the Embankment. They cost £1,000,000 apparently. £10,000 a minute. We walked about four miles up the river and huddled in the drizzle on a jetty at Millbank to watch the show. I have attached a photo. The money would surely have been better spent on decent drains in Tooting. By the time we got back to the Chelsea and Westminster, they were already taking down the Christmas decorations. And my leg hurt. Bockers was celebrating New Year in a lodge in Scotland, hunting. If I was handed a shotgun as the year turned, things might have got messy.

William is finally going to be operated on. It has taken some time for everybody on his team to agree that this is the way forward. Agreement was reached when his doctors took the radical step of talking to each other, rather than making a decision then going on leave so that the next chap could make a different decision. His op is next Wednesday, if all goes according to plan. He will have two new openings on his tummy. His nurse confidentially agreed with my summary of the situation. William will have three bottoms. If he grows up with the same sense of toilet humour that defined my childhood, he will not be short of material. He is, however, going to have to improve his personal hygiene. The following video highlights the problem. Apologies for the gratuitous nudity.