Since New Year’s Eve 1984/5 when I casually accepted a chocolate offered to me just 30 minutes after midnight and my resolution to become vegan failed, I have never made any New Year Resolutions.

Despite my intense hatred of all things winter, New Year’s Eve has always been my very favourite day of the year. The parties, the atmosphere and most of all the growing feeling of hope and promise, no matter how false, for the New Year ahead. It’s like a birthing of new dreams, new achievements, new pleasures just waiting to fall flat on their face. But for that one moment, they can be real and achievable and endless possibilities appear before you stretching the distance of the magical stream of 365 days ahead.

For the last ten years a good many of my New Year’s Eves have been spent, at least in part, at work, and for five of those years my hope was that this would be the year I would shake the disease. One year, that hope came true, and oddly, with it came the worst depression I have suffered since the dreaded teenage years.

2010 has been a most peculiar, bipolar year, infinite highs followed by infinite lows, and while I have had no interest in making plans, wishes or hopes for the new year to come, even though I know that 2011 is going to be one of my toughest years yet, with little in the way of highs to combat the lows, as the days of 2010 drew to a close, somewhere inside me hope sprang eternal and would not be beaten down.

Maybe this year, I will have no aspirations, and so wonderful things will happen.