By a bizarre coincidence, New Year’s Eve falls on exactly the same date this year as last year. I think we’re in a rut. And I’m grateful for it.

Though we don’t get the solid, long-lasting, well-built years anymore that we had when I was boy. I clearly remember talking about the new year with my grandmother, in her little house. I think it was the end of 1956. Grandma said there would never be a year 1956 again, and I couldn’t see how that could be true. Still seems wrong to me.

Above, Sissel Kyrkjebø does Auld Lang Syne, in Scottish and Swedish. Wearing a butch men’s suit, just to annoy me, but in excellent voice.

I want to thank all our faithful readers for their loyalty (and patience) through another year. We do all this for you, and I hope you feel properly guilty about it.

Special thanks to Phil Wade, who – I should remind everyone, including myself – is the host of this hall.

I’ve had better years than 2025. I take comfort in the fact, much cited in the Middle Ages, that fortune is a wheel. If I’m down at the moment, the wheel should (probably) come around again. I’ll keep you posted.

I’m reading Njal’s Saga again. It’s a long saga, so I’ll probably be posting reading impressions for a few days, as I work my way through it.

Watch for that, if you can handle the excitement.

Now to celebrate New Year’s Eve in my own way, which is not at all.