Either due to lack of time or lack of discipline, my private journal has become increasingly sporadic over the years, but until 2005 I strove to keep a daily diary and this day of the year always had a feeling of ceremony about it. I suppose I wanted to leave readers either with a satisfying feeling of closure, or in more ambitious years on a bit of a cliffhanger so they’d want to come back for more of my thrilling life story. In the embarressing optimism of my early teens this often took the form of a mawkish summary; in 1997 I went for the ultimate season finale with half a sentence which I finished in the next diary. (A sweet idea which I have just noticed is completely ruined by an elementary grammatical error.)
But whilst I remember often putting a great deal of thought into wrapping up my year, flicking through my old diaries I have discovered that my favourite final sentences are actually masterpieces of anticlimax. A few of the best ones:
1994: Dad let me have 3 glasses of wine, 3% alcohol. (You absolute rebel, you 15-year-old James Lark.)
1998: If. (A pretentious year, then.)
2001: Tsk – I’ve become a stereotype. (A moment of terrible self-realisation.)
2002: Walked home in nasty rain with grumpy sister. (This one is my favourite for its beautifully grim sense of realism.)
2005: 2006 will be better. (A sad one this, especially as I have a feeling it didn’t turn out to be true.)
There will be no sense of ceremony about writing my journal tonight, probably because I will fall asleep before I get around to doing it, but I am pondering what kind of final sentence I might have applied to 2008. In fact, for the lack of a final page to put it on, I might as well blog whatever options I come up with. I’ll get back to you…
