Truth be told New Year’s resolutions are not usually a triumphant success for me. The ‘new year, new me’ route is a cliché and quite frankly a ridiculous approach to 2012, nor will I venture to learn a skill that exceeds my capabilities again, so this year entails a new attitude. My second term has begun and I feel I should make the most of student life. This term I endeavour to venture out of my comfort zone and try every cocktail in ‘Dusk’. Not only is this achievable but it will be more enjoyable than my over-ambitious past resolutions of, ‘learning to play violin’, or ‘mastering how to speak Italian’. NC.
With two terms of university to go, rather than thinking about poxy questions such as what to do with my life and where I’m going to live, my resolutions are all about how to enjoy the final six months of nightlife in York: Firstly, get some new music; it is no longer acceptable to drink alone whilst listening to My Chemical Romance in times of emotional strife. Similarly, no more tears in The Willow. And thirdly, just for a change, go to a club that isn’t The Willow Bar Disco…and Reflex doesn’t count. TS.
After an astonishingly bad start to last year, involving a ‘3 for £10‘ Sainsbury’s wine deal, an intoxicated, impulsive desire to dance atop a table, and a life-long ban from my favourite restaurant in Bath, I resolved, Bridget Jones style, to keep a diary so that I might purge my sins. For two months I kept that diary before I lost interest and it faded to obscurity. It resurfaced at some point last December and I found reading it back traumatic – it was a cross between a Jacqueline Wilson teen-angst novel and Gossip Girl. I never realised what a bore I am. For that reason, this year, and every year following, I shall resolve NOT to keep a diary. OH.