Happy New Year, everyone… Smith & Burrows once sang:
So tell everyone
that there’s hope in your heart
Tell everyone or it will tear you apart
The end of Christmas day,
when there’s nothing left to say
The years go by so fast,
let’s hope the next beats the last…
Many people believe that January is named after Janus, the two faced god, as the month is all about reflecting on what’s passed and as well as looking forward to what the next calendar year will bring.
Perhaps never before in the history of the universe has this notion – of hoping the next year’s better than the last – ever been as apt, and plenty of writers much more eloquent than the present author have mused on the negatives which have gone before, and the positives to come, so I won’t waste words and effort elaborating on that.
I’m still halfway through Death to 2020, the excellent Black Mirror instalment just released on Netflix, and the opening sums things up nicely. I’d totally forgotten that last January saw terrible bush fires, threats of world war and myriad other pre-Covid problems, and am somewhat embarrassed that, even when news of the virus started to spread, I was sceptical of those stockpiling and even critical when events I was looking forward to were cancelled.
Fast forward to the end of the year, though, and I feel lucky to still have family members (even though I’ve not hugged them for longer than it takes to gestate) and a job – however hard both may have been at times – and even find myself genuinely excited about what the world might be like after all this, having seen the really good side of people and communities during the pandemic and not really missing that much some of the things we took for granted before.
Like many, I too have re evaluated what’s important, and totally ‘got’ Soul, the truly wonderful new Pixar animation even before noticing the similarities with my own situation compared the other Mr G – another JG, no less – especially as his experience came when finally getting to perform on stage, whilst only last week I finally got my writing in the online travel section of The Guardian:
‘My favourite Christmas abroad’: readers’ travel tips | Travel | The Guardian
Of course, a big difference is that I have my wonderful wife and kids to grow even closer to during lockdowns, so can’t complain even when negotiating the nightmares of childcare provision probs and live lessons from home whilst mouths need feeding and bums need wiping.
Christmas was perfect and restful, just the tonic after the trials and tribulations of the month leading up to it. They included the sad passing of Maradona, who became a real icon in recent years, and whilst I shed a tear at the news and subsequent panoply of footage of not just his greatest moments but also his myriad nadirs, I feel lucky to have all that lovely Trickett stuff, a lasting legacy on the toilet wall of Il Capitano’s and now some beautiful socks courtesy of a sincere friend at the other end of the M62. We also lost another legend in Paolo Rossi, about whom I once attended a fascinating talk at Liverpool University, and I consoled myself with an evening engrossed in a brilliant and moving documentary about Francesco Totti.
Other great things watched over the festive period included The Mandalorian, which just gets better with every episode – especially the dark troopers, and the surprise appearance of Hamill himself – and Tin Star Liverpool, which makes the city – and even Bootle Strand – look even more gorgeous than usual. Now, of course, my nightly viewing is based around the return of Cobra Kai, transporting me as it has to the mid 80s and my obsession with Karate Kid 2 (including a Daniel action figure which I seem to recall breaking pretend ice with, and my early feelings for the beautiful Kumiko) which is something of a comfort in these troubling times.
Another positive, which I’ve been excited about for weeks, occurs this weekend, when the mighty Marine welcome Mourinho. The TV gantry is up, the huge temporary floodlights dominate the skyline as I look out of the kitchen window, and the town is abuzz with excitement. I’m one of the ten thousand who bought a ‘virtual ticket’ to make up for the lost revenue, and can’t wait to see what happens. Frank Cottrell Boyce wrote about the magic much better than I:
And, whilst I don’t have the credit for this photo, our house is on it so I will reuse (thanks to @peterjharvey)
Whatever the outcome, the club and the community can enjoy their moment in the spotlight and I think the whole situation symbolises how things have changed since last January. Unsung heroes being recognised and celebrated, whether part-time footballers, or volunteers, or NHS workers, or the staff at my local Sainsbury’s or fruit and veg shop who I’m making an extra effort to support and appreciate – we need to help local businesses and services out, celebrate them more, hope that they can prevail when this is all over.
Janus was the god of doors, gates and transitions; beginnings and endings. Similarly, someone once said that middle age is also Janus-faced, as we look back on our life and then forward to what we have to come. The pandemic has taught me to accept I’m forty one now, not nineteen forever, so things like gigs and wild nights out are a thing of the past as my lifestyle and appearance grows old (and grey) gracefully instead of clinging to the youth slowly slipping away.
Even on our lovely little Christmas Day, I was more concerned with perfecting the recipe for a Smoking Bishop to recreate the Cratchit family Christmas than anything else, and very nice it was too!
Whatever our ages, beliefs, denominations, stances or epistemological standpoints, I hope he is looking down on us all favourably as we struggle on through the dark.