Why I can't stick to New Years Resolutions

I have finally figured it out.

First there's Christmas (yes, dammit, the Xmas blog is still coming. Hou jou bek). Then there's New Year. And that's the way it should be. Our benevolent universe always provides us with a wonderful balance.

Just as you're getting over Christmas, with all it's gluttonous, festive excesses, along comes the new year with its flirtatious, let's-do-it-one-more-time-for-the-hell-of-it cheer. And you go along with the party and the fun and, for one last time, the over-indulgent excesses. Why? Because tomorrow is a new year, a clean slate, and you will be good. and pure. and indulgent free. The universe is truly wise and loving.

Except in my case. For me? ... well, let's just say, the universe tweaked the plan a little. You see, on the 10th day of Christmas, instead of 10 lords-a-leaping, the universe slapped it's knee and delivered me into my mother's arms.

While the rest of the world is feeling pious (By the way, Pia means pious... can't you just hear the universe laughing it's head off..?) and virtuous because they have begun a new year filled with self-control and decorum... I, gaily and with wild abandon, head on into another festive excess. New Years Resolutions never stood a chance with me. No wonder I never lost weight or became fit. No wonder my house is a disaster zone. I not even sure that I know how to spell organised. Organized?

Champagne and orange juice for breakfast. Cake for brunch. Divine Chardonnay for lunch. Pate and prawn toast to nibble on. The word "nibble" is used with reckless poetic license. More Divine Wine (Starting to lose track of the cultivar...). Some more cake for pudding. Christmas pudding and custard for desert (the cake was just the starter-desert). More wine. I think. And then "leftovers" for supper with more Divine Wine. Think it was red? And not forgetting... more pudding!!!

New Years Resolutions? ... (drum roll for diabolical laugh) A-HA-HA-HA!!!

As soon as I can roll off my couch I promise I'll look for my diary under all the ripped wrapping paper.

Well, tomorrow then.

Maybe.