Happy New Year! I know I’m a bit late with the customary exchange of good wishes but my bonhomie is a little fragile as the euphoria of Christmas completed without incident, shovelling myself into 2019 and trying not to look too eager for the children to return to school has most definitely worn off.
So now we find ourselves at the start of 2019 and my thoughts turn to the year ahead and what it will bring. Of course, on the day of ‘the vote’ I can’t really avoid the subject of Brexit. I have to admit to being heartily sick of the whole thing and rather embarrassed that we are a global laughing stock (not helped by shutting a major airport just before Christmas due to unidentified drone activity). However, there is no getting away from it and whether you are ‘in’ or ‘out’, the implications for the future of this country are enormous. I keep feeling that it is all like a big bad dream and that we will all suddenly wake up and it never really happened, sort of like in ‘Dallas’ when supposedly-dead-for-a-year Bobby Ewing walked out of the shower and the whole last series was a dream.
I have also got a bit of a problem with the actual word ‘Brexit’. Am I the only one who immediately thinks of a breakfast cereal every time ‘Brexit’ is mentioned? The image conjured up in my head is one of a sort of Weetabix/Shreddies hybrid with a tag line of ‘Brexit – helps you get up and go’. Who knows what is going to happen in the end but suffice to say this one’s going to rumble on and on…a sort of serial cereal.
Elsewhere on the world stage, we have the continuing car wreck that is the Donald Trump Administration. Will he be able to trump the gob-smacking, barely believable comments and actions of 2018? I expect so and with only the prospect of Kanye West and Kim Kardashian in the wings for the post-Trump era, the outlook is not what one might call ‘bright’.
Back here, other than Brexit, it looks like we’re in for another few months of ‘Britain paralysed by 1 cm of snow’ (increasing our already fairly high mock factor amongst other nations) and more episodes of ‘Kate v Meghan’. It was only a matter of time before the Meghan bubble burst (build ‘em up, rip them down – rule number 1 in the British tabloid code of conduct) and the ridiculously tagged ‘Fab Four’ were consigned to ‘Yesterday’. The only thing that the Beatles and the Cambridges/Sussexes have in common is that there are four of them…just ‘Let it Be’.
So what will 2019 bring for me? I’m keeping my expectations fairly low (at least then I have a chance of surpassing them) but secretly hoping that this is the year when I finally get my professional act together. I realise that sounds like I am touting for a slot on the Royal Variety Show…relax, my ambitions are rather more modest and have nothing to do with show business at all. One thing I am not is delusional (yet) so you won’t see me making an almighty fool of myself on BGT or the like.
Although it is tempting if only to maximise the embarrassment of my already mortified children who are at the age when even the way I breathe seems to horrify them. In fact, almost everything I say or do at the moment attracts the comment of ‘that’s so dead’ from my middle child. The music I listen to, the places I go to, the TV I watch, the things I say…all ‘dead’…he does currently seem to be living in a rather apocalyptic world.
One constant in my life for 2019 will I’m sure be Fortnite. In the vein of Princess Diana and ‘there were three of us in this marriage…’, I feel as though I have four children – two boys, a girl and their ever-present, foul-mouthed, highly addictive friend, Fortnite. Any hopes that this would be a short-lived love affair have long gone as the very clever developers change up the game regularly. I can still wish for the impossible…my boys running around outside (rosy-cheeked…ok a bit much) kicking a football rather than screaming at a screen, blinking every two minutes and only coming to dinner ‘when the game has finished’. When I ask about the game’s attraction, one or other will explain to me in a slightly patronising manner, with a trace of pity in his voice and using words of one syllable as if I am not the sharpest knife in the drawer or perhaps two years old, that this is the way young people ‘socialise’ with each other nowadays.
So here’s to 2019 and let’s hope it turns out to be a good one for us all – in the world arena and in our own more mundane, domestic arenas. Oh yes, I have one more wish for the year ahead…that my son stops addressing me as ‘mate’. I am not his ‘mate’ (albeit ‘dead’), I am his mother.