A few months ago I listened to Jilly Cooper’s Desert Island Disks. The one thing I remember from it (besides all the sexual innuendos) was her insistence that you should always keep a diary. Her reasoning was that when you’re 24 it’s impossible to remember what it was like to be 22, and the only way to relive it is by writing it down.
I’ve never been good at keeping diaries. I am a stopper and a starter, and thus, flicking through one of my old notebooks is like wondering around a museum. There are love poems written in moments of sadness, observations from the bus, song lyrics, scribblings, shopping lists. All of them disjointed.
Yet, I’ve always been drawn to the idea of the examined life. Perhaps that’s why I’ve nurtured this blog for so long – in fits and starts – but always with a hunger to find a thread of narrative out of everyday life. Somehow it makes my world feel more meaningful, more real. In writing, one can live something twice. Once in life and again in reflection. And anyway, there’s a joy in reading it back and hearing my old familiar voice. But I think more than all that, I don’t want to get to 80 and realise that the tape has run out, with no way of rewinding.
So this is my early New Year’s resolution. To write, everyday, for myself – and to share the best bits with you as often as I can, for the month of December anyway.
I’m sorry I can’t start the month with a festive food offering, but in truth today all I’ve eaten is leftover sweet potato hash – inhaled at my desk before a doctor’s appointment – and I’m pretty sure that even Nigel Slater couldn’t spin any magic out of that.
It’s off to London tonight though, and on Saturday I’ll be in a kitchen with new friends, learning how to make Christmas pudding from an ex Fat Duck chef. There’ll be mulled wine too. I’ll tell you all about it on Sunday. Until then, keep warm my friends, and please, listen to some Christmassy Tony Bennett.
To The Table 