Looking Back
31 December

At the beginning of this year, I said that I wasn't going to make any new resolutions. Rather, I was going to amalgamate all those that I hadn't fulfilled from the previous three years and given them all one last chance.

Well here's the result of the year's progress.

  • I shall decorate at least one of the interior rooms.
 Done. The bathroom is now beautiful. Now there's just the rest of the house to see to. *Raspberry*
  • I shall have more dinner parties.
 Sort of done. I had two or three this year. And I am beginning to feel better about cooking for other people in numbers greater than two.
  • I shall investigate cocktails (specifically the cocksucker - equal parts of butterscotch schnapps, Baileys Irish Cream and vodka).
 Didn't do anything about this whatsoever and I never shall now.
  • I shall take more trips into the countryside and out to the coast for picnics.
 I did less of this than I should have liked. I do like the idea of picnics but it's the doing of the thing.
    I shall try something daft like roller blading.
Well, I didn't do roller blading but I nearly went paintballing and was only prevented by car trouble. There's a possibility of doing this in the spring. Ha ha. *Smiles*
  • I shall try to party more than once this year.
 Hmmm, I did go to a couple. But that was really down to the bad influence of Chris I am pleased to say.
  • I shall try cooking for pleasure rather than subsistence.
 I think I'm on the way to doing this.
  • I shall visit the dentist.
 No, no, no. Oh, dear, big black mark.
  • I shall visit Dungeness to see where Derek Jarman lived.
 Missed out on this too. Maybe sometime. But it's obviously not a thing I must do.
  • I shall wend my way through another year maintaining this WebLife project and then, come the Millennium, I shall review.
 And I'm doing it now.

I'm asking myself what the last four year of journalising have been about.

It all started off as a way of getting stuff off my chest, of remembering, of finding patterns... yes... but...

It was also a way of writing, of being creative with words, of entertaining an audience, a very select audience of my choosing but, nevertheless, there had to be an audience for me to write towards.

So, what's it all been about then, these Four Megabytes of words? - it really is of that order of magnitude of electronic data, you know.

Well, it's been a therapy in itself to be sure. Oh, not the way I intended. I don't think that there are very many startling insights to be gained by reading it all. But it's reminded me that I can write; that, after doing a degree in English, the ability to commit English prose to the page has not entirely deserted me; that I am still creative.

But it's not been the story I intended. Indeed how could it be? Four years ago, I had no idea I should end up where I am today. The story I had thought would be told was that of me as a single person having all sorts of scrapes as I got over the death of David. And that's where the writing started, as a way of easing the grief and loneliness.

What transpired was two parallel tales - a love story and a tale of transformation.

The love story, not surprisingly, is the story of my Rossi and me. If this Journal is four years old, then that relationship is nearly 3½. There's something like 50 references to David in these pages - over half are in the first year, indeed nearly all of those are in the first six months, of this Journal. There are over 250 Journal entries with references to Ross. He's that much a part of my life.

The tale of transformation is at least as interesting. I thought when I started this opus that I was over the worst thing in my life. Not so. 1996 was a year of expanding energies. 1997 was a year of gathering troubles. 1998 was a year of deep crisis and regeneration. 1999 has been a year of consolidation. As for next year?

None of knows our future stories. In most circumstances, that is a blessing. In any circumstance, it is a challenge and an excitement to make of that future story what we may. I intend to make as much as I can of my future story. Next year, I hope, will be a year of change.

As for this Journal, I can only tell you what has happened. As with all stories, by the time of the telling, the narrative has long since taken place. We tell the stories to pick over the past and to make sense of it.

I'm going to continue doing that in the next century.