It feels oddly fitting that this should be the final piece of 2009. A fiery grinning skull, emerging through brimstone and steam from a black hole tunnel, on track-as it where. My wife came up with the title-'The Passenger', which also holds more than a hint of sardonic irony since its something I am no longer prepared to be.
If the noughties began with the heady promise of a new, spectacular life, which they delivered by degrees, then they have collapsed beneath the weight of my own expectations. I am so done with being undone by my own disappointment.
2010 then-and perhaps its setting oneself up for further disappointment from the offset, but I am going to anchor the years turn to the churlishness of resolution.
Which seems as good place as any, to wish everybody a safe, happy and prosperous Twenty Ten.
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