2014: The best so far!

Posted: January 5, 2014 in life
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

This is going to be the best year. This is going to be the year where everything goes right. Isn’t that great? All the nonsense you’ve become used to, all that dragging, nagging stuff that has weighed you down from the inside, that you excrete in daily moans over a baked-potato lunch, all that will evaporate. This is the year that you’re going to feel better. For the first time in your long and grinding life, you will follow the rules, you will fulfil your resolutions, this is the year that you won’t bloat after 2pm. This is the year you will wear yellow. And not just wear it – you’ll suit it. Strangers will approach you on your way out for lunch, and say, “That’s a great colour on you.” And you’ll take it. Rather than laughing it off, you’ll smile thank you, gliding off in the direction of salad like an angel.

Your hair will look amazing. Huge and buoyant, a cruise ship sailing upon your head, smelling of almonds. Lovers will remember it in their 80s, that hair, that beautiful hair. In 2014, your skin will look the way it looks in the dark reflection of a train carriage. Hazy and poreless and slightly smudged. You will feel full. Your belly will no longer resemble a defrosted quiche, quietly escaping from your jeans. You will not feel faint after running for a bus. You will have new affection for the forgotten bits of your body. Your gorgeous knees. Your neck.

What happiness you will know, come summer, when that woman at work who’s been determined to do your head in moves to the coast, for her lungs. What happiness you will know when you manage to adjust your seat to exactly the right angle for your back. When, suddenly, all the little kindnesses you do for your friends go acknowledged, and the sun shines through the skylight directly on your face, warming you.

Your birthday will approach, with the usual subdued excitement. You’ll arrange to meet your sister for lunch in town, and the road will be closed off, and when you weave your way through you will find everybody you have ever had affection for, and some you didn’t, standing in the street holding banners with your name on. “We adore you!” they’ll sing. “We always have!” It will go viral on YouTube. And the comments will be kind.

That night you will dream an idea for a novel. It’ll be a bright, crisp day and you’ll take your laptop to the park, where you will start to write. By dusk, you’ll have 60,000 words and a bit of a tan, and will walk home flushed and exhilarated. Two young people will awkwardly try it on with you while you’re buying your tea in Tesco. Within a week there will be a bidding war for a three-book deal, which you’ll balance with elegance. The book will be credited for “saving the lives of a lost generation”, and a foundation will be set up in your name. Your old school will put up a framed photo of you outside the canteen. During your appearance on the Review Show, a hashtag about your nice jumper will trend on Twitter.

Your new fame will beckon lost relatives to your inbox, and over tea at a hotel, your mother and her aunt will embrace for the first time in 30 years. When you leave, to meet your partner, they will mouth “Thank you” tearfully through the window.

Your relationship this year will become one of long journeys and love letters, which, in time, will be archived and published as lessons in love. Every train ride you take to each other feels like it is fusing you even closer. You will feel an intense, anaesthetised peace when lying next to each other.

As autumn frosts into winter, your central heating will work twice as hard, for half the price. Your home, therefore, will be forever filled with friends, warming themselves on your rug, discussing politics, and feelings, and favourite Modern Family episodes. Toast will stream from your kitchen. Your jaw will hurt from laughing.

In the photos, your hair will look incredible.



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