“For last year's words belong to last year's language, And next year's words await another voice.”

My new year's resolution is, as ever, to be a nicer person.

It speaks volumes that I don't want to readily admit that to anyone, particularly my mother, lest she think that I don't mean any of my sarcastic or brutally blunt comments. The truth is, I quite enjoy being a bitch.

I am starting a bitch-tin. It's a creation of my own which derives from the classic swear-jar. Every time I make a purposefully harsh comment or joke, I have to add to the tin.

Now, I'm not a bitch in the sense that I gossip especially, or say unpleasantries about people I pretend to like. I don't say mean things about the way people look. Unless they are rude. It's more a case of saying whichever blunt things come into my head. I refuse to pander about being artificially nice. I don't tend to express feelings and I do not have the ability to sympathise. Particularly with illness. There is no such thing as flu. Colds are for the weak. Don't get me started on pregnancy.

Nevertheless, I am going to attempt to reign it in a little. Smile a bit more. Fake some sympathy. New year, new attitude and all that.

Here is summary of my year in angsty tweets: 

7 Jan
"@British_Airways How dare you suspend all your flights from Havana and not offer me a full refund? Who the hell do you think you are?"

24 Jan
"Orphans or not, the thing is... I just don't like children. And I have an irrational phobia of frothy toothpaste. So when the 2 collide…"

4 Apr
"The bad news is I've had Dengue Fever. From a mosquito. I also have a black eye.From walking into a window. 1of these things is not my fault"

1 July
"Angry power eating has reached a new level- just chipped a tooth from violent mastication. When will I be able to eat in a calm environment?"

23 July
"There is a baby living on this street who always cries at 12.30am. I hate it."

27 July
"It's 3am. I'm cleaning my shoes. The woman who lives above me is snoring- sounds like a motorbike. Too many cheap cocktails, too many slugs."

12 Aug
"so how did you break your engine?" "well I asked my friend to punch it with a shoe…"

30 Aug
"When I get stuck in purgatory, Alicia Keyes will be there screeching out "New Yaaaarrrk" until I subside and confess to everything #dyingcat"

4 Sep
"Disabled man "nearly" hit by bus. This is not news, Ipswich!! http://www.ipswichstar.co.uk/news/ipswich_disabled_man_nearly_crushed_by_bus_in_frightening_accident_1_2365625 …"
"Incidentally, neither is this. A lift broke down for 20 mins. A baby was in it. And everyone was fine. http://www.ipswichstar.co.uk/news/ipswich_baby_rescue_drama_as_marks_spencer_lift_breaks_down_in_high_street_1_2366971 …"

13 Oct
"A week of scary deadlines,appointments I am in no way prepared for,yet the thought keeping me awake is the potential threat of clothes moths"

31 Oct
"Shocked by child-demons knocking on my door after 24 year of living within an expanse of fields deserted by human interaction and humour"
"I had nothing to give them but a cereal bar."
"Considered giving up an avocado or a grapefruit, but I knew not what bad omens those little shits were capable of conjuring. #halloween"

16 Nov
"Oh my goodness. There is fake snow and Dick and Dom are singing a song about bogies. I think I'm in purgatory #westfieldstratford

25 Nov
"Parents with Children: Aren't you wonderful, taking little Hugo to the museums? WALK ON THE LEFT."

27 Dec
"@firstgreatwestern I have been stuck on this train for 2 hours now and I hate you. And there's NO WATER!!"
"@greateranglia And I hate you and all."
"@FGW sorry I got your hip abbreviated name wrong. Character saving so you can reply more to complainants, I assume"
"And you, @TFL. You are also on my hitlist."

"There are only patterns, patterns on top of patterns"

History repeats itself.

Last October, I was the last person to move out of our student house in Oxford. This meant that I somehow ended up with the brunt of the job- cleaning, lugging to charity shops, handing in keys etc. etc. It was exhausting and emotional, which may account for my absence of mind on the final evening when I managed to lock myself out.

Everything was spotless. My bags were packed by the front door and my car was loaded like freight train. I went to take the last of the bin bags out and… slam. The front door closed behind me. All keys and worldly possessions inside.

This morning, I moved out from my temporary room in Queen's Park. Having finished term on Friday and spent every hour since working and/or drinking, I'm a bit out of it. My body hates me, my voice sounds like a broken goat. I had a 13 hour shift at the gallery yesterday and got back very late. Set my alarm for 7 to make time to clean and get my stuff together.

Of course, I overslept. Still managed to wash, clean, eat, pack in a flurry of j-cloths, tights and weetabix. Everything was spotless. My bags were packed by the front door ready to load myself up like a pack-horse. I went to take the bin bags out and… slam. the front door closed behind me. All keys and worldly possessions inside.

In Oxford, I resolved the situation by going out to meet a friend for dinner, before climbing upon said friend's shoulders to break into a bathroom window with a little dutch courage. In Oxford, my neighbours were later found guilty of organising a sex-trafficking ring and the sight of some drunk girl throwing herself through a top floor window would not have raised any eyebrows. In Queen's Park, however, my neighbours have nannies, dog-walkers and high security systems for their million pound wine-cellars.

I am happy to report that this did not stop me from climbing over a fence and attempting to scale the side of the building… but the landlady will be happy to know that her house is not very easy to burgle. With palms full of mud and a cut wrist, I surrendered. Happy that I had at least made the choice to get dressed properly before taking the bins out, I went to work. Perhaps I will live at work until the landlady returns to London.

I have come so far in one year… and yet learned nothing.

Other stupid things I have done this week:

• Somehow lodged a piece of plastic in my finger. No time to deal with that shit. Decided to leave it there for a couple of days. Mistake.

• Coming in from the pub on Friday, I snuck in with the stealth of a cat-burglar (somewhat more stealthily than the aforementioned hurling myself through a bathroom door.) Ran to the loo. Flushed the chain. Something exploded. With water shooting in all directions, I decided to stand on the cistern and reach to turn the stopcock off. I think I broke the pipe. Landlady wakes up to find me soaked and swearing. Turns off the water in the road. Neighbours stir. Much commotion.   No water for the next 24 hours.

• Vodka with red wine. Again- I have come so far since Oxford and learning nothing.