I, CRISPIN Richard Hull, hereby resolve that in 2012 I will eat more green vegetables; never drink more than four standard drinks in a day; do at least 45 minutes of exercise a day and not watch any rubbish on television or waste any time playing Sudoku.
The trip out to the Mugga Lane tip – sorry, Mugga Lane Resource Management Centre – on Boxing Day hardened the resolve.
The big yellow bin was already full before Christmas with excess in the garage – but that’s a story for another day.
Well, no, I’ll digress and tell you now.
The Thursday before Christmas, the neighbours went on holiday and left out both bins, even though it was not a yellow-bin week.
I then put out both our bins – including the overflowing yellow bin – and still there were bottles, newspapers and cardboard stacked in the pantry and garage. We had bought garden furniture, a new barbecue and done a fair amount of entertaining.
Spotting two yellow bins out, half the street followed suit. Wrong-bin syndrome, it seems, is as contagious as smallpox. They must have thought it was Christmas. So did I. It was an ideal chance to get rid of the pantry and garage pile.
I went out and tipped some newspapers into a bin up the road, and then carried out some more to a bin down the road, and put a dozen empties into some teetotaler’s bin over the road, and so on. I cleared the lot.
Initially, I felt a bit subversive and guilty and dreaded the shout: “Hoy, you, what are you doing putting garbage in my bin?” (And that, incidentally, is why I didn’t put my address in the formal resolution that opened this article.)
But by the third bin I noticed something. Each bin had stamped on it the words: “Property of the ACT Government”. Moreover, each bin was on the kerb – also the property of the ACT Government.
There was no trespass involved at all. Sure, it was perhaps a little unfortunate that this was not yellow-bin day and they had been lulled into putting what they thought were “their” bins out on the street a week early. And the next day – the day before Christmas – had to sheepishly bring in what had been half full, but now full, yellow bins. But it was all legal.
For those eight or nine of my readers who live outside the ACT, the position is no different. You will find your bins stamped with the words: “Property of Raterip Shire’, or whatever the shire is. So it will still work.
Here endeth the digression.
The real point is that all those bottles, all those filled-in Sudoku squares in all of those newspapers, the masses amount of uneaten food and the feeling of unfit exhaustion while lugging garbage up and down the street and into the car and to the Mugga Lane tip, sorry the Resource Management Centre, hit home.
Clearly, less bad food, less drink, more exercise and less sitting around must be the subject of a resolution for 2012.
But has anything new happened since Boxing Day? No. Why not be realistic about this? Face it, an inner voice said, even if you make a start, someone will invite you to lunch on January 4, before you have had time to exercise, and the whole lot will go out the window.
Just inadvertently leave the beetroot-radish-and-onion-on-birdseedbread sandwich at home and after some hours teaching, you will be needing the sustenance of a kebab or steak sandwich.
A moment’s forgetfulness will justify the temptation of the Sudoku square, on the grounds that it helps the brain fight early-onset Alzheimer’s disease.
And a day of hard work will justify the relaxation of junk TV.
Think, man. Why not resolve to do something easier, something more achieveable, and something that benefits others?
And it hit me as the deadline for this column drew closer. Why not resolve not to DO anything? Why not take the easy path and resolve to refrain from doing something you don’t much like doing anyway?
So, I am now publicly resolving as follows: my resolution for 2012 is not to shout at anyone.
Imagine that. If everyone took up that resolution the world would be a better place – the Kantian test for goodness. After all, shouting gets you nowhere. No-one listens to shouting. Nothing is ever resolved by shouting. It is a great resolution. I commend it to you.
Of course, there would have to be some exceptions. You have to shout at people if they are in danger: “Fire.” “That pot’s hot.” “Look out for that kid on a scooter.”
Speaking of kids, I would have to have an exception to wake up my grandchildren when they stay over. Otherwise they would never get to school. You can only wake people up by shouting.
And if I shout at them in the morning, I may as well shout at them in the evening, when they are equally deaf – propped in front of a television, refusing to go to bed.
Further, you have to shout at dogs on the nature strip. That’s all they understand.
You have to shout at idiots on the road, even if they can’t hear you: “Slow down, you moron.” “Grow up before you kill someone.” “Get off my tail.”
And computers definitely don’t hear you, but you must be able to put New Year’s resolutions aside to shout at them when documents or programs disappear or you can’t move something off the screen.
Also, you have to be able to shout at Telstra’s recorded voice when she sweetly says in perfect English: “Is that ‘billing inquiry’?” when you have said “Big Pond connections.”
Similarly when the taxi company’s recorded voice gets the suburb wrong or the woman in the navigation system tells you to do a U-turn when you know the direction of your destination and you only want guidance for the last few streets.
You must shout back at a beeping microwave or phone: “Yes, all right, I’m coming.”
And lastly, on quiet reflection, I realise that if someone shouts at me, I have to shout back or I simply will not be heard.
In all, 2012 should be a quiet, healthy, productive, resolute year. Much the same as 2011.
CRISPIN HULL
This article first appeared in The Canberra Times on 31 December 2011.