Farewell to the Red Pig

Hopefully we can agree that New Year’s resolutions are a waste of time. Not only because no one ever sticks to them, but because they are based on the premise that the year gone by needs improvement. [Check: how many times have you actually celebrated a GOOD year, rather than the possibility of a better one?]

Well I don’t mind a better year, if that is at all possible, but the year of the Red Pig, as the Chinese horoscope calls 2007, has been pretty damn fine, and I’d rather make a point of remembering that.

This was the year, for instance, that I became my mother (all the good bits, of course). Like her, I got myself a ring, a new surname, and a whole new family. This year I also got to cook the Christmas rice pudding, which has been her seriously guarded domain for all the years of my life. But this time we were in different kitchens – different countries, in fact – so I was obliged to step up. I think I pulled it off pretty well. (There were no leftovers).

I also flamed a home-made Christmas pudding, and there were no leftovers there either.

I also perfected the baking of a damn fine loaf of rye bread, dark with stout and molasses, and if I didn’t have other career prospects, I don’t think it ridiculous to imagine I could make some moolah off these babies:

But there is more to life than food, like building a herb garden, submitting a Ph.D. thesis, getting hooked on West Wing (and Nip Tuck), discovering outrageous beginner’s luck at ten-pin bowling, and playing a decent hand of Black Jack.

Mostly, I think this has been the year of laughter, and if I get half as much next year, I’ll be just as lucky. Bring on the Rat!