So here it is, Happy New Year, everybody having fun?

(I quote here from Slade's little-known follow-up single, far less lyrically successful than its predecessor because a week on, Granny is not so much "rock'n'rolling with the rest" as conked out on the sofa with acid indigestion and a Remington foot spa).

Unwanted presents eBayed away, Jools Holland dusted off and put back in his coffin for another year, and the last of the turkey stewed, curried and made into glue for next year's handmade Christmas card venture, 2007 is upon us.

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My dear editor thoughtfully neglected to tell me this offering had to be written four days before my usual deadline, so as a result it may not be the carefully researched, insightfully structured feast for the cerebrum you have come to expect.

"What would a Herald reader like to hear about at this time of year?", I asked myself. "From this special perspective, a brand new year stretching out in front of us like a blank page or new-fallen snow drift, waiting for us to make our mark and thence set forth into the series of doodles and footprints that will in time make up a year's worth of our living, I should surely be providing my readers with a few profound musings on the meaning of life in its purest form, or the happenings of 2006 and their implications for the months to come".

But then I thought nah, I'll just do a list of my resolutions. Enjoy.

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1. Remember, at all times, that I am a student and not Imelda Marcos (this resolution is made largely for the redemption of my bank balance, but also serves to correct my occasional urge to wear a cerise skirt suit).

From this day forward, I will acknowledge that owning more than 40 dresses may be acceptable for a minor royal or pantomime dame, but not for someone who spends at least 60 per cent of each day in her pyjamas.

Furthermore, I shall no longer buy lunch from Planet Organic under the pretence that 4.55 for a tofu, ginka and quinoa bean medley is reasonable because it's healthy, knowing full well I will spend the same again on Yorkie and Red Bull trying to take away the taste of wheatgerm.

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2. Ring home more often for the sheer joy of conversing with my beloved family, rather than only when I need to ask inane things.

For example (and these are all true): which hole to put washing powder in; which foodstuffs can and can't be eaten raw; why the Inland Revenue have taken half my money; where Dorset is.

3. Make the most of living in London and not Worthing. A resolution not meant to cause any offence to you folk, but it has dawned on me that I might not take full advantage of living in a city with so much in the way of culture, diversity, and opportunities to wear fanciful outfits without being verbally abused by schoolchildren near Teville Gate.

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In three months I've seen less of the sights than most Japanese tourists see in an afternoon (though my noodle-consumption could present some competition).

I've only actually been south of the river twice, and one of those times was without realising (presumably distracted beyond the need to notice a landscape feature as subtle as the Thames).

This will change in 2007, however '“ I will visit museums, art galleries, parks and Parliament.

I will take a keener interest in the theatre.

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I will experience all the capital has to offer and not resort to spending every Wednesday in Cheapskates, a club whose only selling point is booze so cheap and potent it obliterates all memory of the less lovely aspects '“ the way the sweat from the dance floor evaporates, condenses on the ceiling and drips back down on you like a kind of vodka-tinged acid rain, perhaps.

4. Stop believing that late is the new "on time". The recent vogue for tardiness has sucked me in good and proper.

I've always been a late person, of course, but recently I've become a late person who doesn't care, which is rather a lot worse.

When people say "be there for 8", I hear "be there for 9".

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Which means I arrive at quarter to 10, and have probably done my make-up on the bus (and I'm loath to spend another night attributing an intriguing eyeliner smear to the traffic lights on Euston Road).

Even when I'm trying to be punctual, it seems perfectly acceptable to leave the house at the time I'm meant to be somewhere, as though travelling exists in a time-proof vacuum of its own, or I have magical powers. Which I don't, I just have a lot of irate friends.

5. Be a nicer, better, more selfless person, and stop believing people want to read 800 words entirely about you.

See all of above. Happy New Year.

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