Some very wishful thinking for 2018

When you’re a kid you write to Santa with your wish list, but who do you write to when you’re an adult? God? Hmmmm. No-one? Too depressing. Facebook? Pfffft.

In an effort to ward off the coruscating existential dread bought on not by an epic New Year’s Day hangover — my days of referring to Bloody Marys as the Harrington Breakfast are over — but by the arrival of another new year amid global dystopia, I have made a wish list. If you are still too hungover to register your own pulse as we lurch into 2018, consider yourself lucky. Unless you postpone the dread with Bloody Marys, you’ll be panic stricken and writing your own wish list by lunchtime.

So 2018, I wish. I wish that people who don’t have vaginas would stop trying to legislate them. I wish women would stop doing weird things with their eyebrows so that they look like they have permanent marker on their foreheads. I wish ‘plant based food’ was just called ‘food’, and words like ‘meat’ and ‘dairy’ became as obsolete as ‘snuff’ and ‘rickets’.