This is it

Last day of the year. I've woken with a splitting headache (not the rum but the air pressure -- I'm pretty sure). I had great plans to run this morning, but now I've eaten up most of the morning lying on the couch moaning while my wife has somehow managed to look after all children and also wash floors. I can be just as capable as her, but she does it effortlessly and with cheer and grace. I do it with much grunting, grumbling, banging and yelling. I suppose that, too, has its place in the grand symphony. The rest of the day sees me preparing a feast for the neighbours and then tiptoeing next door later for what I'm told will be some memorable punch. And then tomorrow will be a brand new year. It reminds me of that feeling I get when I buy a new notebook. The pages are empty, cool and crisp. Anything could appear there. Hope I don't mess things up.