Is it too late in the year to say, Happy New Year

I didn’t even think, until a lovely person left a comment this morning, that I had left things at an inappropriate pause.

The term finished at school, the mister decided to drain his annual leave, we went away and had a most excellent break, we came back, I had tonsillitis, the mister got sick, school went back, after school activities started, one lad forgot his saxophone, one his gym gear…my new year plans for world domination (which included paying more attention to my blog) got somewhat sidelined and have not quite got back on track.

I have lots of drafts behind the scenes of the blog. There’s one there about how surprising England is to an Australian whose first visit is in near middle-age. It’s surprising, because while we were so busy in Australia trying to be not English, the people in England kept being English so that now, if you’re an Australian and your visit to England is in near middle-age you can’t help but think, ‘Gosh! England is very English, isn’t it?’ That would be a not uninteresting blog post.

There’s another one about the lines at the Louvre which stretched for longer than any line I’ve seen, so we abandoned our plans to visit the Louvre and went instead to a bistrot for lunch and then, the following day, roused ourselves out of bed early so that we could be the first in line at the Musee Rodin. Only to find that the Musee Rodin had, that very day, closed for renovations until April, leaving the garden with a one euro entry fee as compensation.

There are several drafts about my re-entry to Abu Dhabi. Our three-year anniversary of landing here, the things I thought through the fog of tonsillitis, youngest’s current loveliness, in love, as he is, with the joys of life and being alive. There is even one about my follow-up to the dishy dermatologist and his surprise that I would share any of my health information on the internet.

I have no idea why I began those drafts and didn’t finish them. It’s part of my new year plans. To finish things.

17 thoughts on “Is it too late in the year to say, Happy New Year”

  1. It’s always worth lining up at the Louvre. Because you never go back until years later unless you actually get around to snagging* that benefactor and moving to Paris to live off croissants, coffee and complaining.

    *”sn” can be substituted for “ch”, depending your energy levels.

    1. No, it really wasn’t. Honestly, based on our experiences at the D’Orsay the day before, I would say the line was at *least* three hours long. It was freezing, raining on and off and the lads and I visited a few years ago. The mister was content to leave it on his list of things yet to be seen.

  2. Don’t worry, people warned me how English they thought England was just before I visited at the age of 24. I actually think we’re more like Americans than we like to acknowledge.

    But I guess all that English difference is amplified in early-late-mid-yoof.

  3. And a happy New Year to you too. I don’t think it is too late at all. February for some unknown and arbitrary reason does seem too late.
    I am hoping you are over your illnesses and that the household is sharing your youngest’s love of life. And really looking forward to any or all of those blog posts.

    1. Thank you, Elephant’s Child. Yes, we’re all back on track now. Just did that household thing of sharing all our viruses. And it is hard not to share his love of life – it is beautifully infectious.

  4. Happy New Year to you and your family, Tracy.

    I hear ya re queueing for hours in a European winter. Just enduring it for ten minutes whilst waiting for some Nutella crepes is tough enough. 🙂

    1. Do you know, I find the European love of Nutella hard to get my head around. Nutella is just peanut paste only from different nuts, right? It seems to lack the elegance that I have always associated with Europe.

  5. Perhaps I am an unusual American but I’ve never given England two thoughts.

    I haven’t been to England, but when I lived in Lithuania I met a lot of English folk — some from London, some from the north — and I couldn’t understand them at all. I was all, Speak English, man!

    1. LOL. I’m afraid you probably wouldn’t be able to understand me when I spoke either. You’d be fine with my youngest child though, he changes his accent to match whoever he’s talking to, whether they’re speaking English from England, America, India, Australia…not me, I’m stuck with these twangy tones.

  6. I do recall English people being very English when we visited, many years ago now. Whereas here they seem to relax. OTOH Greek boys in Greece were like any other teenage/young men and very beautiful, whereas Greek boys here seemed to be trying to outdo each other to be the ‘Greekest’ as they saw it. Very strange.

  7. The English, Andrew Riemer says, have nuances of their language that we Ozzes have long forgot.
    So, I was at a loss when my English rel was puzzled by my parents living in a “street”. Where did she expect them to live? In a paddock?
    “Street” evidently indicates some diff level of social class there.
    The point was made to me tho when I heard a W.A. policeman saying that they had arrested a “gentleman” for assault, rape, break, enter, plus more. It sounded novel until one realised that he just meant “man”.

  8. Tracy – so sorry you missed the Louvre and Musee Rodin. We walked straight into the Louvre with no waiting (sorry!) and spent a wonderful day at Musee Rodin (again – no waiting). We are off to the US in June and will catch up with Jenny H while we’re there.

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