Apparently I am not funny enough.



Lovely Son thinks I focus too much on the serious side of life, contemplating my feelings, which are always miserable; he says this makes boring reading - no wonder I keep losing followers!



To him, I am like a Dementor with the internet.  Or I’m like the friend who’s call you reject because you know they’re gonna moan on and on about how unlucky they are, while not listening to you, and then inviting themselves round to eat all…

Okay...I am often rubbish at this.  It was off the back of this rubbishness that I promised I wouldn’t make resolutions this year.  A friend has even reminded me of this.



And now I am breaking that promise.



You can see how this bodes well for the rest of the year.



Instead I am making useful resolutions: it is the fact that they are useful which means the promise-breaking-resolution-making is entirely justified.



Gone from my list are the, “I will…

Christmas holidays 2011 were tough.  



Tough enough to stop me from writing; not only were the three weeks plagued by missed flights, 800 mile drives, train journeys, broken boots, medical appointments, allergic reactions, poorly grandparents, missing absent friends and broken down kitchen appliances - this in reality is enough to push anyone over an edge into a depression worthy of a holiday suicide.  Let’s face it: Christmas is tough enough without all your well-made plans…

I love Christmas: I love the food, the time off, the movies, the board games.  I love the sparkly lights and the cinnamon and apple in the air.  I love the scent of pine needles and roaring fires.



And this year I am dating, so I should be loving the romance, the candle-light, and the promise of what is to come.



But I am not.



In fact, I am lonelier than ever - the emptiness has been knocking at the door louder than the carol singers.  And I don’t think this…