2016 had a handful of lemons to spring on me at the last minute and I'm still wading through its sour juice, picking out bits of pulp and its many pips.
It's crazy how some unforeseen messiness can overshadow all the good things that have preceded it.
Now, as I sit appreciating the remainder of sunlight that lingers on my windowsill at 4pm on a late January afternoon, after weeks of short winter days, it's dawning on me how the frosty mornings of the last few weeks, beautiful as they may have been, are creeping ever closer to spring.
As I move past the ass of 2016 and bring my head above the water again, I realise that I have let a series of personal misfortunes (including a couple of torn ligaments in my knee, followed by a couple of spectacularly snow-speckled and sore tonsils, resulting in some fits of delirium) more or less define my year.
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Now, as I sit appreciating the remainder of sunlight that lingers on my windowsill at 4pm on a late January afternoon, after weeks of short winter days, it's dawning on me how the frosty mornings of the last few weeks, beautiful as they may have been, are creeping ever closer to spring.
As I move past the ass of 2016 and bring my head above the water again, I realise that I have let a series of personal misfortunes (including a couple of torn ligaments in my knee, followed by a couple of spectacularly snow-speckled and sore tonsils, resulting in some fits of delirium) more or less define my year.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, there are bigger issues at hand. Brexit is a thing. The NHS is falling to pieces (to which I can attest). Trump is president of America. Obama is not president of America. So on and so forth, the world appears to be ass-side up and on its head.
All we can do is keep it from getting us down, albeit whilst keeping a keen finger on the pulse of it all, and try not to take life too seriously.
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