Another year over before it’s begun,
January through December is already done,
Now we are waiting for presents and gifts
With flurries of snow in the air all adrift.
But before we get cosy and sleep by the fire,
Lets all take a moment to step back and admire
Everything that’s happened in 52 weeks,
The good and the bad, happy and bleak.
January first, I lay in my bed,
As woodpeckers pecked huge holes in my head,
2014 started just like the last
And more scarily so went equally fast.
In March I made the move up to the big smoke,
And lived with a crazy cat lady because I was broke.
She was Russian and weird and terribly scary
And unfortunately for this poem her name wasn’t Mary
And during my time there her little cat died,
The rotten old fleabag “I’m sorry” I lied
For deep down inside I was filled full of glee
Until she presented his ashes as I made my tea.
In August, the auld wan she asked me to go
And my home life hit an unearthly low
My new home is Stockwell was not a great spot,
Being mostly famous for where someone got shot.
But then in December came Seymour and Val,
Who rented their flat to me and a pal
A lovely wee place close to the river,
Where at last I felt safe whilst eating my dinner
My work life, like home has seen lots of changes,
With new jobs and offices and lots of new faces,
My love life has been all too well documented
And caused me to wallow in grapes – all fermented!
The year has been filled full of ups and downs,
I ran to Brighton like some sort of clown.
There were boat trips and plane trips, an occasional song
My take on the Rathlin bog went horribly wrong
And now the year has come to the close
Two thousand and fifteen right under our nose.
And for reading my blog posts over the year
I’ll toast to you all with a cold glass of beer
anitamaguire 