New Year’s Resolutions. What a cliché. We want to be better versions of ourselves, we make promises and lists, and then, come about the 14th January, we let ourselves down. What a more harmonious place the world would be if we all just accepted our weight, our bitten nails, our mild alcoholism and our lack of charitable deeds.
There are a lot of New Year Revolutionaries in my gym. Pesky folk, irritating me by being on one of the mere four treadmills that I would like to be on, were it not for their influx. But at least I know that, circa the 14th January, they’ll have got bored of the gym. Not me – I’ve got a wedding in 266 days, the gym is my second home. I’m going to get so fit and fabulous I’ll make Elle MacPherson look a bit podgy.
Usually, I avoid resolutions. I’m a pretty good version of me as I am and any plans to improve can be made as and when they are needed, not saved up for society’s One Hit Wonder Eve.
This year, although it shames me to admit it, I’m fit to busting with resolutions. Turns out Kim Willis needed a bit of a spring clean after all.
Get super sexy for the wedding. That means perfect Halle Berry skin, flawless Kate Middleton hair, tiny Jessica Alba bum and svelte Jennifer Aniston arms. When your fiance asks you to spoon him at night so he can ‘feel the warmth of your big fat belly’ you know your fiance does not need to worry that Ryan Gosling might want to run away with his bride-to-be. December’s Egg Nog has been replaced by January’s carrot and beetroot juice and I’m slowly beginning to feel wonderfully smug.
Work really hard so I can afford to pay for the wedding. No dilly dallying, no procrastination, no meandering. No Etsy. (Alright, a little bit of Etsy. Definitely no Daily Mail. (Love to hate it. Hate to love it.)
Possibly gamble all earnings on Poker? If I won big I could ponder Etsy as much as I like... Hmm, there's certainly some mileage in the idea.
Read more. Absorb information, like an eager sponge. I’ve subscribed to the Week in order to be more intelligent at parties and be able to cope when the conversation steers away from Kate Middleton and towards Afghanistan. So far the only information I’ve managed to retain is something about the dead skin in your pillow. Maybe I need to read a book about how to retain information.
Stop buying clothes. I’m out of control. Gareth refers to my sister and I as ‘The Shopping Sisters’ for our incredible ability to shop whenever we meet each other, in a smooth, swift system which we’ve perfected over the years. In. Scan. Possibly Purchase. Out. No messing. My wardrobe gets passed on to charity shops at a terrifying rate. I need to savour the clothes I’ve got and avoid all contact with my credit card.
So that’s me, only better. The old me, with added glitter.
And one more thing. I truly despise giving up alcohol at any time of the year, but most of all this popular time of year, when everyone’s doing it. This is when I most want to drink, just to make an obstinate point. However, I’m on a reluctant White Month – a month in which no alcohol is ingested. (That’s the dictionary definition. Intravenous loop hole?)
This is because December was so utterly lavish and drenched in alcohol that I feel a White Month is all I can do to redress the balance.
So there we have it. In having four resolutions for the new year, I’m attempting to be a better version of myself and in so doing, like myself slightly less for giving in.
Oh well. Next year I’ll go back to having one resolution. To change nothing.
"The composition of my soul is made, too great for servile, avaricious trade.
When raving in the lunacy of ink, I catch my pen and publish what I think."
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