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What just happened?

It's commonplace at this time of year for things like this to do some sort of head-scratching look back at the year just gone. Some whimsical piece full of wonderment at the twists and turns the last go round the sun has taken. Cor, they say, I never saw that coming. Blimey, who'd have expected that.

Well, I thought about it, and then decided not to. Because whichever way you slice it, 2022 has been an absolute shithouse for a heck of a lot of people, and it seems a bit tasteless going coo, who remembers "surprised by cake"? crikey, that was a laugh, eh? 

Likewise, I am irritated by our media class's tendency to treat politics, which is the stuff of real people's actual lives, as though it were all some jolly entertaining spectator sport. The disastrous conduct of our ruling party has actively served to make everyone in the country worse off this year. It shouldn't really be the subject of a parlour game where someone has to remember precisely how many days Liz Truss' Premiership lasted for.

I should, in the interests of transparency, admit that I've actually had a pretty decent year; though I'll confess that the rapid rise of commodity prices has made my job a little more ticklish, it's a fairly minor irritation compared to people actually wondering how the hell they're going to heat their homes. And so, by that token, it seems tasteless to trumpet good fortune.

 So, no, I'm not going to reflect on the year just gone. Good bloody riddance.

What I will observe, though is that the sheer quantity of news has caused the year to perform a curious temporal trick whereby it has both shot past, and gone on forever. By which I mean, it seems like only a couple of seconds since Boris Johnson (remember him?) tried to get his MPs to change the rules to save his mate (the domino that set the whole cascade off), yet at the same time it feels like Russia has been at war with Ukraine since forever.

There will be far cleverer folk than I who will doubtless be able to explain this disconcerting effect. I will satisfy myself with merely observing that it's a rum do. But then, it's been a rum year. However, I have no intention pf making myself a hostage to fortune by professing any greater hopes for 2023. I think back on all those various friends (who I shan't name in order to save them embarrassment) hopeful facebook statuses of the last few years saying the next one can't be worse, and yet, progressively, they have.

So up yours 2022. And fuck you in advance, 2023.

But you lot, you lovely people, have yourselves as gentle and peaceful a New Year as you possibly can under the circumstances. I shall see you in a bit.

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