An Empty Post.

Since 2019 has nearly gone, I’ve been racking my brain in an attempt to construct some sort of retrospective for the dear old blog. All it produced was confirmation that 2019 was a dull year.

It wandered in and limped out.

I made a lot of visits to the Royal Derby hospital.

I stopped going for walks because my left leg couldn’t manage them.

I didn’t go broke.

I ended it more depressed than I started it.

I made no new friends, neither did I lose any.

I’m probably wiser at the end than I was at the beginning.

Nothing I learned conferred any immediate benefit.

I didn’t meet the Lady B’s daughter.

I hardly noticed the scent of the seasons.

Since there are still a couple of hours to go, some of the above might be wrong.

The New Year event has no meaning for me anyway. Numbers come and numbers go. The river of life flows on unremittingly until the cataract is reached, and adding numbers to it in no way affects the scenery through which it passes.

I’m loath to post this because it says nothing and means nothing, and yet I still feel duty bound to pay lip service to the artificial. Tomorrow will be another day. Whether I shall wake to it remains, as always, to be seen.