Bing

Groundhog Day was on television the other evening. I think it's a decent flick, sweet and reasonably funny, with Bill Murray chewing up the scenery like a wacky, rubber-faced combine harvester. If you haven't seen it, I should probably warn you I'm about to starting spoiling the plot... now. Weatherman Phil Connors re-lives the same day over and over, on the day the local groundhog, Punxsutawney Phil, makes his grand prediction about the winter's end. Phil (the man, not the groundhog) starts off as a bit of a prick, but is changed by his predicament and eventually becomes a pretty cool guy, helping sick puppies, fixing broken lawnmowers and playing a pretty mean piano. He also learns to carve ice sculptures, performs the Heimlich on the chief groundhog wrangler, and takes out a full life insurance policy with his annoying buddy, Ned Ryerson. Hmmm... well maybe that bit was a little weird. All his particular achievements and improvements in his day got me thinking about what I'd end up doing if I was stuck in the same situation in Punxsutawney, which then got me thinking about the rest of this shiny new year stretching out in front of me.

This isn't to say that I've become immortal, or a weathermystal meth. I want to write more, and finally get around to finishing a bunch of articles I've been diddling with for years, like my Scottish Hiking Tour, that article on laptops and my interview with the vampire Elvis. At the same time, I want to spend less time in front of the computer screen, and more time with actual people. That may sound like a personal heresy, but we'll have to see.

So, there are my plans for the coming year. I could call them Resolutions, but that always smacks of masochism, like chaining yourself to a stovepipe for three days to quit smoking. I like the word Plans a little better, because it always seems to lift me a little, like a distant sunrise over a snowcapped mountain, or a fit female jogger in tight lycra. All this time and effort would leave me quite annoyed if I'm run over by an errant bus tomorrow morning, though. Or a car. Or a zeppelin. Hmmm. Onwards then, but carefully...