A new year...

Parked up in Carnforth last night, assuming that locals intending to celebrate new year would go to the fleshpots of Lancaster and Morecambe instead. 2017 arrived, on cue, without any need for me to usher it in. I don’t think many people would say that 2016 was a vintage year. I backed the wrong horses in both the Brexit referendum and the US presidential election, so my prognoses for 2017 ain’t worth a hill o’ beans.

Mentally, I haven’t felt this grounded and balanced for maybe 30 years. I haven’t had a full-blown panic attack for years, and even the low-level feelings of anxiety, which used to be present through my waking hours, have gone. It’s the difference between shadow and light, night and day. Physically, though, I’m overweight, drinking too much, and - despite the photographic forays - not getting enough exercise. So this is something to address in the months to come…

Santa on his own fitness regime: either scaling a pile of presents, or abseiling down...