Breaking The Curse Of The New Year's Resolution

If she had a cent for every New Year’s resolution she has broken in her lifetime, says Karin Brynard, she’d be a millionaire by now.

Come February each year and I’ve already broken all my New Year’s resolutions.

And I’m not even talking about my new New Year’s resolutions. I’m talking about the old ones, those musty old nags I’ve been dragging from the dungeons of my mind for years now; dusty and moth-eaten they emerge every year at midnight on New Year’s Eve. I polish them up a bit with a delusionary daydream or two. But before you can say ‘Jack Robinson’, they’re back in the catacombs where they’ll hide for another year.

I’m referring to those golden oldies like more exercise, less bread and sugar, no more swearing or foul language.

The longest they’ve ever lasted was one morning – between wake-up and breakfast, to be precise. Maybe you know the feeling: you’re still reeling from last night’s revelries and suddenly you realise you have aches in strange places (one year it was severe bum pain, until I remembered that I’d – heaven forbid – accidentally twerked when I intended to twist!).