Editorial: Raise your glass with no regrets

If the road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom, most of us today should be much the wiser.

Too much trifle, too much tippling.

Every year, Boxing Day is somewhat of a crossroads. Do I repeat the previous day's excesses and stuff my cavernous gob with trained endurance? Or go cold turkey? (I couldn't resist).

But ever thus was Christmas. It's a day we spend trying to balance our inner selfish with the selfless: Negotiating with my wife over who can drink and who will drive (not something I'd recommend testing the "palace of wisdom" theory over), reversing Christmas crackers to offer the trophy end to young nieces and nephews and, just as I'm about to shave an extra piece of ham one of my kids cries out somewhere with a bruised knee or ego.

With the Bay's mercury hovering about 22C it can all get a bit much. It's forgivable to both appreciate Christmas yet regard Boxing Day as a celebration of Christmas' past.

In five days time we'll be doing the same thing on New Year's Eve.

It strikes me too that neither is this party about living in the moment. Rather than fondly farewelling the year, it's more like we're intent on mule-kicking it into history.

We hanker for the stroke of midnight expecting a personal and financial metamorphosis. The looming year promises better pay, fewer kilos, more pleasure, less pain.

The only possible inference is that we're completely dissatisfied with the past 365 days of unjust oppression. That's why we opt to look forward and make resolutions. Looking back is like staring Medusa in the eye.

This approach, at least to me, is unbefitting. Our proclivity to shun the year that was ironically defies Robbie Burns' new year anthem, which starts with his warning against such thinking with the rhetorical line: "Should old acquaintance be forgot?"

I tend to agree. We are for the most part, a privileged bunch. We'd be better off taking a more retrospective stance at New Year's. While midnight's a great Cinderella moment - let's not forget the glass slipper left last year.

Speaking of anthems, I'd endorse one more suited to the new year: A song the hauntingly beautiful French balladeer Edith Piaf immortalised some time last century: Non, je ne regrette rien (No, I don't regret anything). It's gorgeously inspiring.

If excess wins out over temperance this Saturday night as I wrestle a bottle of riesling, my neighbours may have the misfortune of hearing me belt it out at midnight. My own Cinderella moment.

Here's wishing everyone a belated Merry Christmas and a regret-free New Year's Eve.