2025 will soon be history. So long. Farewell. Auf Weidersehn. Ta-ta!
Missing you already.
We’ll still have our memories . . . and more than 500 selfies . . . to remind us of the places we went and why we won’t go back to most of them.
Whether we bid 2025 farewell with a teary eye and quivering lip, depends on how 2025 treated us.
There are many people who’ve had a rough year, financially or health-wise, who’ll be glad to see the back of it. Not long to wait now.
But a word of caution!
I’m sure I’m not the only person in town who’s regretted saying, “Let’s hope next year will be a better one for both of us than this year’s been!”
If that’s not a magic spell for conjuring up all manner of disappointments and disasters, I don’t know what is.
And I speak as someone who has absolutely no belief in superstition, fortune-telling, prophecies or portents.
Which is a trait I share with many others born under my star sign.
As for ‘New Year’s Resolutions’, do people still bother making them?
I don’t know anyone who does and, speaking for myself (who else can I speak for?), I stopped making them around the same time someone last smiled on “Eastenders”.
However, there are a few changes I’d like to see in 2026, which I’ll share with you . . .
I’d really appreciate it if, during TV and radio interviews, Welsh and UK Government ministers would refrain from telling us, when things have gone wrong on their watch or one of their merry band has been caught out doing something they shouldn’t, that the Government will put it right by ‘taking a robust approach’ to the matter.
Ever since a spin doctor decided the word ‘robust’ would convince us plebs it guaranteed the powers that be would take a serious, no-nonsense stance, the word has become so overused, it belongs in cliché corner along with, ‘We’ll soon get spades in the ground’, which they invariably trot out when questioned about long-delayed construction projects.
They need to junk these tired phrases…‘At pace’!
Happy New Year!

So, the other day, a loyal reader approached me and dropped this bombshell: “Are you really annoyed by everything, or is it just an act?”
My epic response? “Pass me that towel and get out of my bathroom, please!”
Needless to say, I had new locks installed on my doors the very next day. You can never be too careful when your readers start asking questions that deep.
Now, let’s get real for a moment.
Yes, I do get annoyed by a lot of things.
For instance, Christmas songs blasting in stores before we’ve even had a chance to remember the brave souls of Remembrance Sunday.
I mean, come on! I can’t even buy a pumpkin spice latte without being serenaded by “Jingle Bells.”
And don’t even get me started on how those same songs haunt my eardrums long after the holiday season.
I swear, I heard “Last Christmas” in July last year. I’m pretty sure George Michael is haunting me at this point.
Just the other day, I was listening to a traffic presenter on BBC Radio Wales who said, “There are some issues on the Heads of the Valleys Road.”
My quick-witted comeback? “Yeah, and that’s not the only thing with issues.”
I mean, if they’re handing out awards for sass, I’m ready to take the crown. Craig Revel Horwood, step aside; there’s a new diva in town.
I must be one of those easily-triggered souls whose feathers get ruffled at the slightest provocation.
Now that winter is in full swing, my eternal pet peeve has resurfaced: grown men strutting around in freezing weather wearing shorts as if they’re auditioning for a role in “Survivor: Arctic Edition.”
They may think they’re tough as nails, but honestly, they’re as daft as a brush!
Picture this: their pale, goosebump-covered legs are enduring icy winds, hail, and snow, while they have the audacity to wear woolly hats to keep their heads warm. I mean, does that make any sense at all? It’s like wearing a parka while sporting flip-flops, totally mismatched.
I overheard one young lad justifying his lack of proper legwear in December by proudly declaring, “I’ve just come from football training!” If he hadn’t been twice my size, I would have retorted, “Alright then, but why did you leave your trousers in the changing room?”
And don’t even get me started on those middle-aged men with beer bellies and crumpled shorts, wearing them all year round.
I’m seriously considering scheduling a meeting with the Lord Chief Justice to propose making it a capital offence. “Your Honour, I present Exhibit A: the man in the crumpled shorts.”
So, stay tuned for more adventures in my world of perpetual annoyance.
Who knows what other absurdities I’ll encounter next? One thing’s for sure: it’s never a dull moment when you’re on the lookout for the hilarity hidden in everyday life.

Here’s a seasonal story told to me by a friend I’ll refer to as Bob, that happened decades ago, but which he only recently related.
In their mid-20s. Bob and his wife were living in the East Midlands and a week before Christmas they received a letter from their bank, advising them they were £47 overdrawn and the assistant bank manager wanted Bob to call in ‘at his earliest convenience’ to discuss the matter.
Bob and his wife had just returned from visiting their respective parents in Wales and the cost of buying them presents, together with rail fares, had made them overdrawn for the first time.
Bob’s appointment at the bank was on December 23rd. He was ushered into an office, where, behind a desk sat a living caricature of everyone’s picture of an officious assistant bank manager. Bald, small moustache, gold-rimmed spectacles, scowl.
Interrupting Bob’s explanation for being overdrawn, the bank official absolutely roasted him for being irresponsible, making him feel six-inches tall.
Ordered to repay the overdraft at £6 a week from his weekly salary of £30 (before tax), and with nothing bought for Christmas dinner, they were facing a miserable December 25th.
He went home feeling depressed.
But then, he had an idea.
Christmas Eve morning he walked into town with his only asset, his precious acoustic guitar which he’d owned since he was 16, to try and sell it at one of the musical instrument and equipment shops that catered for the local music scene.
There were seven shops in total and in the first six he’d either been offered £20 or nothing.
When he entered the last store, the proprietor must have noticed Bob’s air of desperation, because he offered him £30. Bob hesitated for a second while he worked out what that would buy him and his wife for Christmas. Then he suddenly heard the shopkeeper say “Okay . . . £40!”
That afternoon, Bob and his wife bought all the food they needed and the last, smallest, Christmas tree in their local Co-op.
You probably won’t believe that it started snowing as they walked home.
But it did!
So, here’s to the guitars we may have to part with, the sacrifices we make, and the joy that comes from the heart.
Merry Christmas to all, and may your holidays be filled with love and warmth, just like Bob and his wife discovered all those years ago.

Ah, the annual pilgrimage to the attic to retrieve the holiday decorations. It’s like a trendy scavenger hunt, but with more dust and questionable life choices.
Seriously, why do we stash so much stuff up there?
It’s like a time capsule of bad decisions and forgotten dreams.
I don’t know about you, but every time I venture up there, I’m greeted by a mind-boggling assortment of items.
It’s like a bizarre episode of “What’s That?”
I find things I completely forgot I owned, like that inflatable dinosaur costume from last Halloween (which, let’s be honest, I’ll probably never wear again).
And then there are the items I’m pretty sure I’ve never used, like that fondue set that’s been gathering dust since the early 2000s. Who even uses a fondue set anymore?
I can’t help but wonder: am I turning into a hoarder?
Is there a support group for people who can’t let go of their 90s Beanie Babies? Because if so, I might need to sign up.
Now, here’s the kicker: ever seen “Antiques Roadshow”?
Those folks always seem to stumble upon hidden treasures in their attics.
Not all finds are worth a fortune, but many come with fascinating backstories.
Meanwhile, I’m up there unearthing a collection of mismatched socks and a VHS tape of “Titanic” (which, let’s face it, is probably worth more as a relic of the past than as a movie).
So, as I embark on my New Year’s decluttering mission, I’ve decided to dive into the backstories behind the junk in my attic.
Who knows? Maybe that old lamp with the questionable shade has a tale to tell, or perhaps the box of old board games holds the key to my childhood memories (or at least a few missing Monopoly pieces).
Stay tuned, folks!
In 2026, I’m not just decluttering; I’m embarking on a treasure hunt through my own personal history.
Who knows what gems I’ll uncover, or what embarrassing relics I’ll have to explain to my friends?
Either way, it’s bound to be a hilarious adventure.