When I was a kid, I never thought that My New Year Resolutions meant anything until I had written them down on paper in my very best handwriting. The act of committing such thoughts to paper made them real. So real, in fact, that I didn't have to do anything further about them and certainly not put into practice any of them, perish the thought. As an adult, I stopped writing down what were, in fact, admissions of failure – in case they were used against me, m'lud – but, for a time I did still make a mental list of all those useful things I would do to make my life better as well as the lives of those around me.

Admittedly, these mental urgings were usually a result of overindulgence over the festive period and had little to do with 'normal' behaviour. In fact, most of the indulgences would have regulated themselves out of existence anyway once the Christmas temptations - like boxes filled with extravagant chocolates or bottles containing outlandish spirits of impossible colours - were removed. Even if they weren't, often the mental forming of the list – the adult version of the carefully scripted childish inventory – was simply enough to deem that the task was done and that no further action was required. The admission of sin allows the sinner to proceed with more of the same.

Giving up

Giving up making Resolutions means giving up the inevitable feeling of disappointment at breaking them a few days into the New Year. I mean, what a miserable way to start a new year – full of hope, we trust, then one of the first things we go and do is to break those new shiny Resolutions we had so lovingly polished over the holiday. There they are, broken on the floor. Aren't you ashamed?

No, far better to eschew those symbols of inner purity and goodness and simply set about doing just one thing that you hadn't done so far in your life, but which you were always promising yourself to do. This might be as simple as fixing that damned latch on the garden gate or getting the dog's toenails clipped. Or it might be exotic, like finally booking that trip to Shangri-la or teaching yourself welding. It needs to be a practical issue so that can be done within a certain period of time and thus completed, a final tick put against its name. It must not be some eternal wishy-washy inner virtue against which no tick will ever appear. No, it needs to be practical so it can be done and finished with and forgotten about. (Or, in the case of Shangri-la, to dream wistfully about forever more).

Me? I'm not doing any of that. Like I said, I've given up making resolutions about what I plan to do to improve my life. Instead, I have a tiny mental list of things I'm not going to do. Top of that list for 2025 are: not feeling obliged to engage in small talk with my taciturn barber; having no intention of getting that frying pan that Miguel Esteves Cardoso thinks I need; and not arguing with the local butcher who is convinced I'm German. Not doing these things won't make me any more virtuous, but at least they should help me feel just a little bit smug for a short while.

Author

Fitch is a retired teacher trainer and academic writer who has lived in northern Portugal for over 30 years. Author of 'Rice & Chips', irreverent glimpses into Portugal, and other books.

Fitch O'Connell