I love Christmas. I do not like New Year. December 31 strikes me as akin to 52 Saturday nights rolled into one: you are either partying or you are Norma No-Mates. We were partying this year and it was fun, but I still do not like New Year. I don't make New Year resolutions either. I am too late for 2009, in any case, but if I were to be thinking of resolutions - how close is that to revolutions? - for 2010 I already have a few.
* I will not start the year shouting at the Frenchman because he cannot move and indeed can hardly breathe because he fell and hurt his ribs. I will be sympathetic.
* I will not forget that I have put a metal and plastic object into a saucepan of boiling water to sterilise it.
* I will not nearly set fire to the flat because I left said metal and plastic object in a dry saucepan over a full flame.
* I will not then put the scorching pan straight into the sink in a panic thus a) causing much billowing acrid smoke and b) creating a burn mark in the sink that cannot be removed.
* I will not cry over the beautiful Le Creuset saucepan that now has melted plastic stuck solid to its enamel base and will probably have to be thrown out.
* I will not be so angry about all the above that I drag the Christmas tree too hastily through a too narrow door causing it to ping back and poke me in the eye.
* I will not drop the box of beautiful glass Christmas tree decorations marked "fragile" as I put them into storage.
* I will not pour bleach onto the metal object and then try to lever it out of the Le Creuset saucepan splashing bleach on my new t-shirt in the process.
* I will not meet friends I have not seen for nearly four years and then blather manicly at them for two hours because I am so pleased to finally speak to someone in English.
* I will not ever look under the kitchen sink to see if there are any leaks because I will know without looking that at least one pipe is dripping.
* I will not shout at the Frenchman again because somehow the above was absolutely his fault. Nor will I be unutterably unpleasant to him just before I am leaving on a Eurostar giving him a cast-iron reason to look for someone prettier, younger and nicer in my absence.
* I will not wait until the Frenchman has gone to bed then eat all the chocolates his mother brought for Christmas, especially the milk ones which are his favourites, knowing that he won't find out until I'm already on the Eurostar and even then he won't really mind and will still (hopefully) call me in England to say he loves me and will not (hopefully) be looking for someone prettier, younger and nicer.