Each new year, K. and I struggle to make resolutions. Not for want of will: we both want to seize the day, when we’re not in the mood to seize the duvet instead and hunker down. But rather, we always want to make resolutions with at least a little bite, capable of accomplishing something or at least catalysing it.
To get any sense of perspective on the world, you have to climb up a bit. And so last weekend we first fled our house for the relative novelty of the nearby Hackett’s bistro. There we hoped to be able to let our thoughts drift for a bit; unmooring them, so that they mint find their own pattern.
But the place was altogether too clattery – tiled floors and bare rafters – and the staff just annoying enough – their usual slight well-meaning haplessness compounded by us apparently sitting near some of their own elderly acquaintances – for us to be able to stay for long. Change as good as a rest, and all that, but there could be no deep thinking with a head full of other people’s echoes.
As there was still some daylight left, we went walking, past Cogges and up along Madley Brook. The fake Brugeyness of Madley Park along the dammed stream – artfully twee architecture stuck higgledy-piggledy together by design, and hence ultimately decentred and rootless – managed to be pretty in the afternoon light, as we were finally able to talk and loosen up the logjams of last year.
We eventually pointed our feet home; while neither of us had resolutions yet, we still felt more optimistic about what the year ahead might bring. We had not yet seized 2012 by the lapels; but we were at least looking it in the eye, as we walked into the sunset and back home.