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Who's that man, stop all the clocks? We forgot Auden for a minute in our gins by the fire. Both fond and afraid of the approach of a new year. Reluctant to pull the plug much in the same way I hate to end a day. Reluctant to concede nothing more might be extracted from it. It's a time to take a measure of all relationships, you know 'The Seasonals'. Recalibrate re-catagorise nurse gins and debrief. 

I like rituals on the 31st. Perhaps a trompy run along the tow or a crunch over pebbles. A novel front to back by lunch. Maugham. Amidst the debauchery of a 1920s pestilent provence in China I was inspired mostly by one scene. They stabbed at each other. Jabbing forks into choleric salads with set jaws. Perhaps I should find myself a husband set for a foreign posting. Pick out 20 cotton dresses and order whole tinned hams.

Hope he drags me into the jungle and races me to the cholera.

The brief asked for our best shot of 2011. Lazy I thought. I prefer the restrictions of a theme. I cannot supply my best shot of 2011. Perhaps the light was fortuitous; I'm pleased with this one, fond of that at one time; that worked quite well. The best I can do, is do better in 2012. Best foot forward. Pledge only to deal with well-meaning folk and avoid scoundrels. Vow not to commit a thoughtless act, have a careless or hopeless thought. Reach for the hand of him beside you and step into it together with cheerful expectation.