By Sam Trailerman (after three cups of coffee and a stare-down with a bottle of vodka)
Ah, yes, the end of the year is around us. That magical time when people pretend to reflect, pretend to be grateful, and pretend they’ll change. Spoiler alert: they won’t.
What they will do is eat too much, drink too much, and post inspirational quotes while wearing socks with reindeer on them.
Now, I used to be one of those festive warriors — darts, pool, lager, and the occasional tequila shot that made me believe I could dance.
But these days? I’m more homely. Which is a polite way of saying I’ve traded wild nights for warm socks and a suspicious cough that only rum seems to cure. And the precious time at home also affords me lots of time for reflection.
Speaking of pool, there are more variations than there are excuses for not going to the gym. Cutthroat, Bank Pool, One-Pocket — each one designed to make you feel clever until you realise your cue ball just committed suicide.
But let’s talk about my noble mission for 2026: finishing that bottle of vodka that’s been haunting my kitchen like a ghost. It sits there, judging me. Whispering. Daring me. And thanks to Sheran, who brought it in from Melbourne like it was a sacred relic, I now have a purpose. Forget resolutions. This is a revolution.
Will I wait for a special occasion? Absolutely not. That bottle’s getting cracked open whether it’s New Year’s Eve or Tuesday at 3:17 pm. Because if you need a reason to drink vodka, you’re doing it wrong.
Now, I can’t keep up with the young ‘uns anymore. They’ve got more energy, metabolism, and TikTok. I’ve got back pain and a playlist full of Dire Straits. But that’s fine. Life’s not a sprint — it’s a slow, wheezing crawl toward the next bottle of scotch.
Reflection? Yes, it’s important. But let’s be honest: most of us remember the good bits and conveniently forget the time we tried to fix a leaking pipe with duct tape and optimism.
Still, I’ve ticked off a few goals this year. Exceeded expectations, even. Which is impressive, considering my expectations were somewhere between “survive” and “don’t lose the remote.”
And now, as the new year looms like a slightly drunk uncle at a wedding, I’m stocking up on rum and scotch. Not for parties. For medicinal purposes. I’m toying with a great plan to get a few more bottles of the potent stuff to stop the running nose on its tracks!
A splash into the coffee to clear the lungs in the morning. A dash at night to silence the existential dread. It’s not alcoholism — it’s chemistry.
So, here’s to 2026. May your goals be achievable, your drinks be strong, and your mornings be merciful amid plenty of joy and laughter.
Welcome the future with a firm grip on the good stuff! Rum and scotch, the perfect companions for whatever the new year brings.
And remember: drinking rum after 10 pm doesn’t make you an alcoholic. It makes you a pirate. And frankly, that’s far more respectable. Cheers!