Happy New Year to you all. A very low-key New Year’s Eve for me, a tiny amount of alcohol drunk, some good food, perfect company in the form of my husband, A., and – for him – a lot of taxi driving for our two young adult children who he ferried around through the night and the small hours to various parties, clubs and homes in towns, cities and villages across Wiltshire, Somerset and Bristol.
On New Year’s Day, the two of us put on our wellies and headed out for a stomp around the nearby woods and lanes, glad of each other’s company, grateful for all we have, hopeful for what the next decade might bring, even given the frightening state of affairs on the political scene.
In terms of goal-setting, I’m keener on vague notions of what I’m aiming for rather than laying out a strict time-table. I like the idea of a New Year being a Fresh Start but I’m also aware that every morning is a fresh start and it’s always possible, and never too late, to try to change something you don’t like, or to try to achieve something you would like.
So we brought some mud back into the house after our walk and that felt like a good beginning to the year. We were in each other’s company, in a beautiful part of the world, and we breathed some fresh air into our lungs.
I have a plan about my poems and my writing and I’ll try to stick to it as much as I can. It’s a bit vague but it’s written in ink in a handsome new journal that felt delicious to write in.
Like all years, I’m going forward in 2020 one step at a time.