In "Little Gidding", T S Eliot wrote:
. . . last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.
In 2011, I'll be learning Cantonese.
Oddly enough (for a reviewer), my chief resolution is to read more.
I don't think I've ever kept a New Year resolution but it's not for want of trying. The intention is usually strong, on 31 December at least, but winter's a grim season so it's hard to start afresh in brass monkey weather.
Mine is to make no New Year resolutions. Deciding on a new course of action purely because a digit on the calendar has changed strikes me as frivolous and feeble-minded.
For the past 12 years my chief New Year resolution, when I have been moved through sentimentality or pressure from friends and family, has been to finish my book.
From this point forth, I will only snog men who own at least two pairs of shoes, and who have not lived for more than one week in a skip in Camberwell.
I had a little taste of political activism in 2010, and I liked it.
1. I'd like the Milibands to become once more the best of brothers, remember the good old days at Haverstock Comp and unite to launch a campaign to remove the charitable status of public schools.
To clear out my cupboard, boring, to lose half a stone, boring boring, OK, a whole stone, I know, don't go on about it, to get rid of my Amstrad PCW and the two Victorian printers and the three prehistoric fax machines, yes I
I don't understand the point of New Year resolutions. Why would you need to wait until the 1st of January to do something, or to stop doing something?
My hope, and indeed expectation, for 2011 is that Ed Miliband will set out the principles on which the Labour Party's policy is to be based and thereby re-create a genuinely social-democratic party of conscience and conviction
Within a Budding Grove, with its hint at the similitude of erectile clitoral tissue and burgeoning plant life, is the somewhat suggestive translation of Proust's À l'ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs given by C K Scott Moncrie
A visit from this magazine's own excellent young writer Laurie Penny, who has come for a natter about what it's like being kettled and to watch me drink my customary bottle of Shiraz while she sips from a glass of cider and, l
In late October 2009, Stephen Fry quit Twitter after someone called him boring. In late October this year he did it again, this time taking umbrage with journalists.
There are times, composing this column, when I feel like King Midas's barber, the possessor of forbidden knowledge.
My aunt Phoebe - bless her - is obsessed by sell-by dates.
My wife told me recently that "panini" is a malapropism, being the plural rather than the singular.
So, the weather turns and the days get shorter and the money gets tighter. Still, it's not quite enough. What could be done to make things really miserable? Getting dumped tends to do the trick, so that's what's happened.