I do dislike this time of year: everyone feels poor; the entire population seems to be on a diet; my colleagues are on an alcohol amnesty until the first of February and my early morning drive in the dark is now emblazoned with neon-clad joggers — the bulk (sorry) of whom will tire of pounding the pavements in the next fortnight. Roll on February, say I.

In the meantime, I have entered 2010 with much the same philosophy that guided me through the preceding decade — a modest amount of most things probably will not kill me.

It would be a gross exaggeration to suggest that I came within even the faintest whisper of death in 2009, but I did once or twice wonder whether a slightly more tempered approach to life might not be such a bad thing . . .

At the start of the year I was doing some work in the Beaujolais region of France and had the good fortune to spend one night in the suite of a fantastically swish hotel.

The bathroom was perhaps triple the size of the one at home and at its centre was the largest, most opulent bath I have ever seen. I could not resist and, to make the moment complete, had poured myself a glass of something nice to sip in the bubbles.

Sadly, the bath had more controls than the flight deck of a Boeing 747 and more worrying still, no instructions.

Emboldened by my little aperitif, I spun a dial which activated the powerful water supply in an impressive burst — not from the taps — but from the vast showerhead which took on the life and movements of an octopus, spraying water over every bit of wall, every towel and mirror and me. Lesson learnt: high-tech baths are only for the stone-cold sober.

Later in the year, I was travelling with a truly lovely lady from the French Embassy in London who transpired to be as enthusiastic about swimming in the sea as me. It was the end of the season and the locals had long since abandoned the beaches. However, our accommodation was located along some of the most beautiful coastline I have ever seen.

The sea looked irresistible and, late into the evening, happily filled with five courses of Michelin-starred cuisine and plenty of wine to boot, I persuaded my new pal that a 6.30am swim before the day’s work began would be just the thing.

It was — I tell you — a magical experience but blimey, did we come out looking blue as we emerged from the dark water as the sun only just began to rise. Lesson two: the morning after the night before is never a good time for a cold dip.

The highlight of my year was seeing one of my best friends get married and having the lovely job as one of her bridesmaids.

It took place only recently and you might remember the day . . . it was the one when we woke to temperatures of -10C and the snow was thick on the ground.

Ah yes, there we were in our sleeveless, backless dresses wondering why on earth the beloved bride-to-be had not chosen a date in August.

In a bid to keep warm, my fellow bridesmaids and I had enthusiastically partaken of the Champagne as we were getting ready.

No problem. We braved the weather, smiled through the 20 minutes of outdoor wedding photography and leapt into the cars to the reception at the sort of speed that would make Usain Bolt look tardy. What bliss!

At the other end there were generous glasses of mulled wine being poured and our bodies slowly reverted to more normal temperatures. The wedding photographs are now in and when I see myself on the dance floor I realise that I was perhaps a little less inhibited than would be the norm. My final lesson of 2009: buy more thermals, drink less mulled wine.

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