I was going to write a blog post.

It was going to be full of the normal New Year roundups – how many books I read last year. How many I didn’t buy; Hooray! for the library. How many I actually bought anyway. It would have been fascinating, incisive, obviously witty, full of smart things to say about the brilliant books that I may or may not have read.

So, I was going to write a blog post.

But I couldn’t find my glasses. Not my reading glasses that, typing this, I’ve remembered I really should be wearing…BRB…ah, that’s better, I can actually see. Where was I?

I was going to write a blog post.

But I couldn’t find my not-reading glasses. And I know I didn’t need them to write the blog post, but it was annoying me that I couldn’t find them. So, I pulled the sofa apart and felt down all the sides, – why are there so many crumbs? And where do they come from? I can no longer blame children, as they’re long gone. Could the dog be snacking on cheese and crackers while no one was looking?

My glasses were not there.

Straightening up the sofa, I took down the Christmas tree. (I knew my glasses were unlikely to be there, but I thought I might as well make a start while I was upright.) I resisted the annual urge to reconfigure the furniture, twisting the sofa at a jaunty angle that meant watching TV was only possible lying upside-down with your feet in the air.

I cleared the dining table of Christmas cracker jokes that I’d been saving for the apocalypse, when everyone will need cheering up, and I’d be ready to save the day. (Call me if you need emergency knock-knock jokes.)

I loaded the dishwasher (it would not be the first time I found my glasses there).

I watered the houseplants – not because I thought my glasses might be there, but because they might or might not have looked thirsty. (I couldn’t tell; I didn’t have my glasses)

I had a cup of coffee and then another, squinting at my iPad because I didn’t have my glasses and had forgotten about the existence of my reading glasses.

I decided to look in my box of scarves, stored on the bottom of the stairs, in case my glasses were in there. They were not.

I thought to look in the laundry bag in case they’d become tangled in my new hot-pink corduroy dungarees. They had not.

I phoned a friend but lost the nerve to ask if she had stolen my glasses last time she was here.

After another cup of coffee, I remembered that I was meant to be writing a blog post.

Eating lunch, I thought about writing a blog post. Watching ancient episodes of Poirot, soft-focused and blurry because I couldn’t find my glasses, I thought about writing a blog post. Even napping on the sofa, I dreamt of writing a blog post.

Then, out with the dog under the threat of snow, it occurred to me that my glasses were probably under the sofa.

On hands and knees, no easy feat, I peered into the darkness under the sofa. There, glinting in the light from the Netflix fire, were my glasses.

Dusting them off and putting them on was a mistake.

Now I could see everything. The collected dog hair and grot under the sofa could have made a second dog, never mind the discarded Christmas cracker hats, assorted dog toys and a desiccated satsuma. Too tired, but at least clear-eyed, I managed to get up from the floor and considered walking to the kitchen to get the dustpan and brush.

Then I remembered, once again, that I needed to write a blog post.

So here I am…

Only now that I’m here, I can’t think of a thing to write about…

Come to think of it, I’m not sure where I put my glasses.

I will be right back.

Happy New Year!

Er, Daisy May Cooper, just saying. I mean if she says I’m funny as hell, who are you to argue? Preorder here https://linktr.ee/chopsymayajordan