No more  PJs and popmaster

The new year will be all about grooming and grooviness, Armageddon permitting

PORTRAIT OF H.M QUEEN ELIZABETH II PAINTED BY PIETRO ANNIGONI

I can’t wait for the upcoming jubilee jamboree…

VERNE TROYER & MIKE MYERS - MINI-ME & DR. EVIL Film 'AUSTIN POWERS 2: THE SPY WHO SHAGGED ME' (1999)

All of my nails will be as elegant as Dr evil’s...


Happy New Year, my lovelies! How is it for you so far? What’s your take, a couple of hours in? I’m hugely excited about the year ahead, spanning as it does the London Olympics (thrillingly, I have a pair of tickets for the Greco-Roman wrestling), the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee (four days off in a glorious, lazy row – I plan to sleep right through), and the engaging, once-in-a-lifetime prospect of the entire world coming to a calamitous end in line with the predictions of the ancient Mayan calendar on 23 December. Such a lot to get done before then…though my New Year’s resolution to sort out a pension seems suddenly deliciously superfluous.
I don’t know about you, but I’m aiming to get into smaller jeans before Armageddon strikes. And I don’t want to shuffle off this mortal coil without knowing the second, tricky bit of ‘Für Elise’ on the piano. But even if the world remains on its axis, even if we have to deal with the year ahead, and the years beyond, lurching from sovereign debt crisis to X Factor final, from Iranian uranium to Chinese takeover, there are still things I’d like to sort before we meet again, same time, same place, next year. Not grand things exactly, but small shifts that will leave me a better, wiser person than I am today. Thus, for 2012, I promise to…

● Keep the Christmas decorations close at hand – perhaps under the sink or by the bed. We appear to need them so frequently these days, as the years slip away like cats in the night. The loft seems so far away.

● Never again do the school run in pyjamas. They weren’t even my pyjamas. They were my husband’s. It was all going fine until I discovered that the pyjamas had no pockets, and with no pockets, doh, I had no keys to get back into the house.

I think the time for a weekly blow-dry at the hairdresser is upon me

● Fix the cafetière. If I drink one more cup of groggy, grotty, gritty, grouty coffee, I will cry. Or crack. I might wander wailing down the street in my husband’s pyjamas and shock the bin men with my persistent yodelling.

● Learn something new. Not yodelling. My husband is suddenly keen on bridge, but it’s too soon, too soon. I still have my own teeth. Am considering water skiing. Someone told me it was like having a
bikini wax with a water cannon, so I’m not 100 per cent convinced.

● Cultivate better fingernails. Like Charlie’s. And Charlie’s a bloke. I have noticed lately that great nails – ten pearly ovals of a regular size and shape – are the sure sign of a woman of poise, a woman in control of her destiny. I tend to have coffee grounds lodged under one nail, a single elegant pinkie like Dr Evil’s in Austin Powers and a thumb that looks like it has spent the last fortnight shut in a door. Will try harder.

● Ditto hair. I think the time for a weekly blow-dry at the hairdresser is upon me. Without it, I look like the mad woman of the swamp. With it, I
look like a passable though somewhat fatter version of someone who might be on telly. Perhaps doing the weather on South East Today.

● Stop shopping online willy-nilly. Given the chance, I bet I could even buy a willy-nilly online. I’m a renowned expert in the field. I am a bit worried that it is becoming an addiction, that quick flip on the iPhone to see if there are any more size M bikinis left in the Heidi Klein sale. I shop online every blessed day – something I never did when I actually had to get in a car, find a generous parking spot, remember my umbrella, stand in a queue, deal with a blank-eyed, bubble-mouthed shop girl, forget where I parked the car and then languish in traffic while Ken Bruce warbled on about haemorrhoids. Online, it’s just too easy. You can look down and think, ‘Ah, need socks’ – and they’ll be delivered to your door by lunchtime. Dangerous. Perhaps if I take up online bridge, I can wean myself off?

● Stop listening to Radio 2 in traffic jams. I fear it is ageing. I am starting to score highly in Popmaster. Kill me now. Well, not now now. Not Mayan calendar now. I have far too much to do before the end of time…


 

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