My refusal to acknowledge a shift from 2020 to 2021 has nothing to do with covid yet everything to do with loss.
No auld lang syne. No opening the back door to let out the old before opening the front door to welcome the new.
No bubbles. This evening I'll sip a glass of Italian or Spanish or Portuguese or French red, and pour one out for our bond with the EU. Brexit can get to fuck.
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