The problem, as Monty Python knew so very well, was that everybody had an inkling that something was coming. It’s the thing that you dread the most that refuses to materialise in the front of your mind.  It’s the Brussel sprout on your plate that just will never disappear no matter how many times you push it around your plate.

“And I spaketh thus as a lover of sprouts. Blessed be the sprout for it shall sit at the Christmas table regardless of any preconceived dispositions.”

We all know that New Year’s Day is a load of bollocks. New Years’s Eve is that last good pop at wassailing, wishing the best for the year to come, and making resolutions that will never be kept. But we do it anyway.

I thought I was ill yesterday. I really thought that I was unwell. I had all the symptoms; mainly lethargy. The…

“What’s your full name?” the main man asked.

I thought him to be the main man because he was the one to ask whilst the others nervously pushed together in an attempt to allow him his rightful share of the space. He had grown accustomed to such reverenced for his authority and he moved around his little stage as if it was the first performance of Hamlet, with him naturally playing the eponymous hero.

“Name, full name,” he continued. I had obviously fluffed my lines.

“Winston Churchill.”

His head snapped quickly to the right as if trying to capture something that had suddenly appeared for the briefest of instants, before disappearing again into the unknown. He looked at his clipboard, using his pen to trace the list he had upon it.

“Churchill?” he muttered through itching annoyance before snapping back. “Very amusing, Mr. Evans. Now what’s your full name?” He…