Before we launch into another classic discussion of whether or not it ‘feels’ like 2017 (I think 2017 feels like an iPhone screen that hasn’t broken after being dropped from a great height), I’d like to wish you a Happy New Year. Well done, reader, you made it. Give yourself a pat on the back. And a biscuit. Settled? Great.

New Year is often projected as some kind of fresh start. As though all the cock-ups, embarrassments, and drunken text messages of last year suddenly don’t matter. It’s 2017. It’s a New Year! It’s a New You! The world is your oyster! Who knows? Maybe ‘2017 You’ likes oysters now.

"Having more fun is surprisingly easy. It comes in the same category as eating Hobnobs, and masturbation – as an act of self-love you can carry out completely alone."

I won’t lie, it’s a nice thought, but it also comes with a lot of pressure. Inevitably, someone (usually an aunt – the one who you’re not sure is actually related to you but seems to be around a lot anyway) will ask: “What are your New Year’s resolutions?”

That’s right, it’s time to set some goals. 

Weight loss, saving money, getting promoted – the possibilities are endless. Personally, I don’t tend to aim high. I was frankly honoured when someone invited me to something on 19th April, largely because they had the confidence in me to believe that I’d manage to keep myself alive until 19th April. Thus, New Year’s resolutions and I have never really got on.

Luckily, it seems I’m not the only one. Some 83 per cent of people make New Year’s resolutions without sticking to them. (Another 64 per cent of people, like me, pay too much attention to surveys.)

The reason being, when it comes to keeping promises, people are generally a bit shit. (“I won’t kiss your brother.”, “I won’t eat from the tree of knowledge.” Etc.)

First off, please, please, please, do not be one of The People. You know The People I mean. The People who, when January first rolls around, start making absurd commitments like, “I’m not eating bread.”

Why?

In my experience, life is too short not to eat bread. Not just on a practical level, but also on a level of joy. Imagine lying on your death bed and thinking, “Hey, I never made anything of myself. I didn’t fall in love. I didn’t travel. I didn’t leave a legacy. But at least I didn’t go near a baguette in 2017.”

Unless it’s medical, or you suffered some kind of horrific toast-based accident in your youth, then “not eating bread” is a rubbish New Year’s resolution.

Life is there to be enjoyed. Some people call that hedonism, but they are people I’m fairly certain have never had a buffet breakfast or gone backwards on an escalator. My only New Year’s Resolution is to have more fun. Not to go wild, but simply that when opportunities to savour the silliness of life present themselves, I will take them.

Having more fun is surprisingly easy. It comes in the same category as eating Hobnobs, and masturbation – as an act of self-love you can carry out completely alone. Much like those examples, it is an activity I would firmly advocate.

I would encourage you to do one thing, just one, every day that could be justified with a shrug and a joyous, “just because.” Next time you’re on a train, pretend to spot something out of the window, and see how many people you can get to look. Or when an official form needs filling, list your religion as ‘Jedi.’

Many writers better than me have emphasised the fact that we won’t be around for very long. “Life is slow dying.” (Larkin.) “We are put on Earth a little space.” (Blake.) “You should stop eating so many Hobnobs.” (My doctor.) So, I reckon you don’t need much to convince you that you might as well enjoy it.

Happy New Year, reader. Remember to have fun.

*No toast was harmed in the writing of this blog.