New Year’s Resolution


It’s that time of year again and the New Year’s resolutions come out thick and fast. It’s part of Christmas and its part of tradition. The Inevitable subject raises its ugly head after our traditional overindulgence in food, drink, material obsession, and excessive behaviour. I suppose that is one of the reasons why we humour ourselves in making new resolutions for the forthcoming year. I don’t claim that this is the behaviour of everyone but quite a lot of us are more than willing participants in this annual cause.

Commence and engage; the herd mentality comes to mind and I am no different from the rest, and like the man in front of the running bulls of Pamplona who cries “Stop” I am forcefully carried in the wave that ensues, only to succumb to the frenzy and the rush to the starting line which seems to getting longer and longer each year and ends on the 25th of December. Some of us will endeavour to battle on well into the month of January before stumbling into the light…”Crying”…Enough! Enough! Only the faithful old Roy Wood wishes it was Christmas every day, and by the way things are heading he’ll have his wish one day.

Feeling somewhat remorseful for having capitulating on the previous year’s resolutions, I am determined to make amends for the coming one.

How do I overcome my weak resolve? Where did I go wrong last time? And how can I make it work this time? These are just some the questions that are overloading my already overactive and fragile brain. With the New Year fast approaching I have to make up my mind fast. This year I have decided to be quick and decisive and tell no one of my master plan, my mistake in making my resolutions for the previous year were; too many resolutions, and telling too many people about them. The pain of remembrance is acutely working overtime as two of the people I shared my resolutions with, come to mind. Paddy Moore the local but likeable neighbour who makes sure that personal news becomes public news.

“I thought you were going jogging today Mick? Or is that gone by the wayside? He casually asked with three or four neighbours in earshot.

“No Paddy, I sprained my ankle” Nosy Bastard

My dear beloved wife is the other person; she takes great delight in casting up. She is a formidable lady and when armed with ammunition, she is lethal, and by God is she lethal, her barbs are like spits coming off the frying pan.

“I thought you were giving that up” she says in an underhanded off the cuff remark

“Well there’s a genuine reason…” I start to say before being cut off…

She nods in that condescending way “I thought as much” How can she be so cruel…I cringed as I slinked away from the wounding words. “Another waste of money” she calls after me as I make my exit. When I think of the humiliation and embarrassment whenever the subject of Christmas comes up, and it does, I bite my lip and give a clenched smile.

Never mind I’ll show the lot of you yet. Needless to say the aforementioned will not be privy to these coming New Year’s resolutions.

But you have to tell someone…Don’t you?  What’s the point in making them if nobody knows the personal sacrifices one makes, and who would know if you actually carried out your noble resolutions if you didn’t tell anyone; you see there’s my argument and my dilemma. So you have to tell someone and that’s where I had a brain storm.

I decided to write down my noble and aspiring resolutions on a sheet of paper, five in all. I won’t bore you with the details, only that they are worthy and worthwhile. When I had finished this work of art I put my signed declaration of good intent into a white envelope and sealed it with date and proof. I then addressed it to Mrs Kennedy a dear and lovable neighbour. My plan of action was to ask Mrs Kennedy to hold on to letter for me until next Christmas, with which I could proudly boast of my supreme efforts or secretly destroy the evidence should I falter along the way, either way. My reputation would be enhanced or would be none the worst for ware.

It’s the day before New Year’s and it’s time to deliver my letter to Mrs Kennedy when all of a sudden I am gripped by a surge of anxiety. The dear old lady is eighty nine years of age, God forbid, but what if she were to die during the year. How would I retrieve the letter? Worst still, what would her next of kin think of the letter? Would they think that I was trying to inveigle my way into her good graces? And lastly how would I explain a returned letter in the event of Mrs Kennedy’s death to my wife. This last thought of an opened letter being returned to my wife, and especially if I were not there to get it before “she” brought me to my senses, and so with deep regret I have decided that the best thing to do is to make only one resolution and that is to make none.


Michael Mullins © 2015









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