Almost-end-of-year greetings

Dolores has hardly even had to pester me this year to write my Almost-end-of-year greetings to my friends. "See, I am improving." That's what I said to her. "Mmmmm" was her reply. That means yes, doesn't it, mmmmm? I'll take it as a yes.

It's been a year. Not sure what type of year. One full of days that eventually become weeks, then months. Before you know it, it's December again and a letter needs writing. A year of tears, laughter, and getting to bed nice and early. Shouting, too. Plenty of shouting. There's always lots of that when I'm close to a computer.

There was lots of shouting when I broke my toe. On one of the stupid steps into the stupid bloody kitchen. It wasn't an important toe, so it had little impact on my life breaking it. Except I couldn't play for England for a few weeks. Not that I play for them when my toe is unbroken, but I haven't ruled out the possibility. I reckon there's still a chance of getting a game in goal, having looked at my competition.

According to Dolores, one positive result of the toe-breaking incident is that we're getting a new kitchen. She thinks I'm shallow and selfish enough to only have been bothered by the crappy kitchen when it personally affected me. Married for 20 years, but she doesn't know me at all. Does she?.

Dolores still just has the one head, despite what you read in the British papers about Germans. No sign of horns coming through yet, either. She now works at a university hospital. I told you last year she'd become a brain surgeon. It's amazing how quickly she picked it up. Being a bit of a whizz on the computer, she was able to knock up convincing qualifications in a jiffy. The practical side of surgery was a bit trickier, but you have to expect the odd death, don't you?

That's about it for another year. Who knows what the next will bring. I'm hoping to unexpectedly inherit a fortune and never have to work again. That's my plan for every year. More of a vain hope, really. But it has to happen sometime, doesn't it? I can't go through the whole of my life without becoming randomly rich eventually. Can I?

Enjoy all those holiday type events (which will probably be just a dim memory when this letter finally arrives) which happen around now. I know I will. Three weeks with no work. (Dolores has asked me to point out that the bank has given all contractors a compulsory, unpaid, 3-week break as a cost-cutting exercise.) Who wouldn't rejoice about that?