Review of the year

If you hadn’t noticed, it’s the last day of 2020, a year in which…oh, sod that. Why should I do a review of 2020? It was bad enough being in 2020 never mind raking up memories, almost all of which were bad. We lost a dear family member, some friends, others suffered greatly from that awful virus and at least one friend is grappling with long Covid. People have lost their jobs, we have not seen families or friends, save for waving through windows and by Zoom. And most of us have not had a holiday worthy of the word. Review of the year? No thanks. I’d rather watch an episode of Mrs Brown’s Boys. (Actually, I wouldn’t.)

Anyway, I hate reviews of the years on the telly, on the radio, in the newspapers. It’s cheap filler and rarely tells us anything we didn’t already know. Rarely for me, I am trying to look forward to a better day. Where is it?

There’s definitely some light at the end of the COVID-19 tunnel which is just as well since 50,000 new cases are currently being found every day and nearly a thousand people are dying. Some hoax, eh? And don’t give me any of that tosh about, “Well, it’s only old people!” Those old people are someone’s mum, someone’s dad, someone’s grandad and lots of other someones. And what’s ‘old’? We had a 48 year old man die in our village just before Christmas. If that’s old, I’m a fossil. Actually, looking in a mirror, that’s not far from the truth., Anyway, I digress.

Of course, I wish you all a happy new year. What a happy new year will mean to you will probably be a combination of general stuff like the successful roll out of a a vaccine and specific stuff like hugging relatives, drinking in pubs (if any survive) and going on holiday. I spent 364 nights at home this year, an all time record in my lifetime and one I would not care to repeat.

One thing I have l been reminded of in 2020 is that this life is not a trial run. Like most people, I don’t believe I will survive my own death and magically ascend to some kind of heaven, particularly when, after I have died, I am cremated. I am not sure that an urn of ashes would be of great use way up in the clouds. They’d probably blow away before I even got through the gates of St Peter, not that any of this stuff exists. No. I have to get on with the things I want and need to do. Visit the places I am desperate to visit, attend those bucket list gigs that I have put off doing, read that Everest-sized piles of books that I have accumulated and to improve my own writing. Maybe next year less can be more?

Whilst I hope that death is not immediately around the next corner, I can’t be sure. I have seen far too many people discover that chest twinge was an early indication of heart trouble or an odd skin spot turning out to be cancer. So, I need to mind how I go and to do as much as I can before age and infirmity prevents me from doing anything at all. In other words, 2021 has to bring change, but positive change which was the main failing of 2020.

I’m not optimistic yet but I’m not quite ready to give up hope either. It’s not always the case that things can only get better. But I’d be surprised if they got any worse. Have a good 2021.