It started windy. Rubbish bins rattling around out there, somewhere far beyond the soothing folds of the warm duvet. Then, at around 11 am, the icy rain began. I don’t think it’s stopped since.
I can see why new year used to begin in Spring. Having it in the middle of winter is really odd when you think about it.
Anyway, here we are again, wobbling in with the new year like a nervous waiter at a table of 12. I’ve got no idea what to expect. How could I? How could any of us? It’s unknown and unpredictable. All we have is hope, and the blank canvas onto which we can paint it, come what may.
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