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Happy Near you for the ninteenth time!

As I humbly wave goodbye to 2014 from the recesses of the sofa, full of flu and masses of food and the belly to show it, I can't help but think that I'm a little too pleased about the oncoming year. It's not been a bad one - to say so would be to be rather woe-is-me but it certainly hasn't been the best.

I have had good news and bad news. I've made new friends, met with old ones and had jolly good fun. I've been diagnosed with coeliac disease and proven that I am stronger than I seem, braver than I believe and smarter than I think (Oh Pooh, you silly old bear...)

Ultimately though, this year has given me food for thought in that it isn't about me. It isn't about you or that random guy sitting next to you. Of course we are all stars shining brightly, we each feed off the glow of one another, breath life into the world and make mistakes. But really we're just tiny parts of a massive jigsaw and I truly do believe that working together is the way we can make things better. (Totally gone all Mia Thermopolis on you there.)

A small pile of books is collecting on my bed to tackle in the coming months, I have a couple to finish this evening and the rest of the break lying next to me. Life is good.

I'll leave you with someone else's words now, to welcome you into 2015 with warm arms. I hope, wherever you are and whomever you are, you are smiling.

To 2015...
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-- DYLAN THOMAS

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