Why Is It...

...that, at the end of one of the most momentous years in living memory, I am finding it impossible to write anything interesting about the year just gone? I was going to try but I find myself utterly enervated, unable to present a cogent comment about anything of any importance whatsoever.

Perhaps it's all just too much and 2009 will be so much easier to splenetic about. Or perhaps onrushing middle age is making me increasingly cynical about the whole sorry, bloody mess we have landed ourselves in again.

Happy New Year.