What, another one?

Yet another review of 2025. God help us.

No one wants to read another look back over the year gone by. Such low-hanging blog fruit is the refuge of the Unimaginative and the Professional Dodger of Originality. So here’s mine.

Some context first from December 2025. I have been walking around Lewisham, zipped up and pacing against the cold and being buffetted by a sudden change in direction of the wind. The gusts funnel through the gaps between the endlessly self-seeding tower blocks that have turned my neighbourhood into a rubbish Dubai. Pigeons pecked away at the remains of pizza in a drizzle-softened box. Ahead of me a mechanic expertly reversed a car out of an M.O.T. garage, only to jump into another car and drive it into the workshop, in a rush to get the work done before the Christmas break. A silent ambulance raced bluely by and as it passed a certain bleakness of spirit descended on me, alleviated only by the thought of getting home and sticking the kettle on.

‘This is all rather shit,’ I thought darkly to myself, ‘and a long, long way from summer.’