The Christmas decorations came down this weekend, and my attempts to smoke out the melancholic mood that had settled on the tired tinsel as it was unceremoniously stuffed into Tesco carrier bags by blasting Led Zeppelin II through the house completely and utterly failed to work. So I was left to fight off the fog of new year malaise by other means, up to and including wine, wii-ing, and terrible, terrible chocolate.
So now begins the grim and tiresome task of trying to differentiate 2008 from all previous years in my life of impossible dreariness. Blissfully, I have already achieved great things this year, by managing to alienate an old acquaintance who looked me up on Facebook (Facebook! Oh, the humanity) in one simple message. Note to self: The proper response to "We should have a beer sometime" is "Yes, that would be nice," not "Yeah, cos last time we met I was a total fuck-up and probably got just the tiniest bit rapey. Oh, you'd blocked that out of your memory? HA HA HA HA!! No, it's fine, I'm really dull now. One extreme t'other, eh? But hey! Let's party!" followed by a plaintive look at the cloud of internet dust where there had been, until recently, quite a pleasant person who I wouldn't have minded meeting up with. Fear not! A copy of this tale is winging its way to the Oxford English Dictionary in an envelope marked "flying start redefined".
Where can 2008 possibly go from here? Well, I have one resolution and one resolution only, seeing as I'm so ahead of the game that I quit smoking five months ago (and those pointing out this could equally be "so behind the game I quit smoking eight months after making the last resolution" will be taken out back and culled like Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's chickens - wet with bitter, bitter tears of rage). Although I don't think I will achieve it, somehow. Because it is to take part in some sort of DVD commentary before the end of the year. Come on! Who has more fun than people on DVD commentaries? These people just sit in rooms with microphones and laugh, and laugh, and laugh. In my job, I am often in small rooms with microphones, and I have never uttered so much as a snigger, let alone graduated to tittering or, heaven forfend, a full-on guffaw. Now, there are two very, very minor flaws in this plan. One: to be on a DVD commentary, you have to have had some kind of involvement in the making of a DVD, which in my opinion is a ridiculous rule. Two: I have no discernible talent in acting, directing, or writing. On that last point, direct your eyes to the skies, and note the bi-plane roaring across the horizon pulling a banner reading "No Shit Sherlock".
Actually, I've been watching so many commentaries recently (oh, wow. Does THAT explain a lot!) that I occasionally wonder why I can't hear a disembodied voice relating amusing anecdotes over all TV programmes, the news, and when I'm just walking around. "Oh, this was fun to do, this walk down to the bus stop sequence. As you can see, I had an iPod on, but it wasn't just a prop, I was actually listening to music! It was Lindsay Cooper's soundtrack to the seminal Sally Cooper film, Rags/Goldiggers, I seem to remember. Or was it Mcfly? I don't... Oh, there, just in the background, that's Bill, great friend of mine. Hi, Bill, if you're listening, you old cocksucker! Ha ha, no, that's a private joke. Oh, now, this crossing of Shepherd's Bush Green bit, this really took it out of me. I mean, just emotionally..." (fades into distance)