Here we go again, the same old new beginnings,

a clean slate,

a reformed man,

the new you.

Give me a bucket.

A resolution is not a solution.

Grow a new cell. Invent a new gene.

Give birth to new ideas.

In the meantime, I wish.

I wish that my hair grow back as naturally as my hedge in the summer,

that my income would rise higher than my LDL,

that cannabis cigarettes were £4 a pack at the corner shop,

that my flirtations with lady luck actually cashed in £18 million,

that Trump would throw in the towel.