The past few years, I believe I’ve been posting about the holidays with a rather dour note. That was because back then—as today—the end of the year approaches myself and the people I know with a rather dour ring, a scorching taste of not-quite-defeat. Not quite, because there’s always the promise of a new beginning at the start of next year. Is it because I share a defeatist attitude with the rest of my acquaintances? It’s a possibility. Is it because really, life, at that moment, is that bad ? I hardly hope so. That'll mean that every year, we'll have to put up with an increasing sense of dread quelled only by a faint glimmer of wishful thinking for the next year. This year's hardly any different as opposed to last year. We're all a year older, friends. A year wiser? Maybe. One can't be sure about these things. However! while enjoying oneself is hardly a matter of mind over, well, matter, this time of year is still supposed to be one of merriment. And i