As always, we start the new year with high hopes for what it may bring. Certainly, after the year we have just had, almost anything would be better. Events of the year have had an impact on all of us, mainly for the worst. Of course, some people have benefited from chaos and confusion, but for most of us it has been an awful year. I for one am more than happy to see the back of it.
As I look back on 2020 all I see is a series of final chapters. Thanks to Covid I have no social life to speak of and my business is in tatters. It was the year I became single again, a middle-aged mother of two with a failing business.
Of course, this new year is unlike any other we have experienced before. There have been no parties and no shopping for a new outfit to impress. I spent yesterday evening alone in the flat watching Jools Holland. I didn’t even crack open the bubbly – there seemed little point. I should have been celebrating with young Charlotte, but instead of coming home for Christmas, she chose to spend the time with her sister in Manchester. It goes without saying, I was disapointed by her decision but I understood it. Thanks to WhatsApp I was able to see and speak to them at the turn of the year.
At this time of year traditionally people make resolutions for the future. I don’t normally bother myself. As a teenager I would resolve to do any one of a number of things, but inevitably, within a few weeks it had been forgotten. But this year I am determined to see this one through. I read an article recently that suggested writing a diary can be theraputic. Not an appointment diary, obviousy, but a journal to record thoughts and aspirations. And that is what this blog is all about. It is my way to make sense of the past year and provide a vehicle for my imagination. How well it will go remains to be seen but at least I have made a start.