At the risk of sounding like one of those circular newsletters which fall out of Christmas cards from people you haven't sent one to, any year which sees the birth of grandson Maximillian (in June), the wedding of Guy and Sophia (in April) and Jill's 60th birthday (in September) has got to go down as something of an annus mirabilis.
Especially when it ends with England retaining the Ashes in Australia for the first time since I was in my 30s. (Boy, does that seem a long time ago.)
It hasn't all been good, of course.
I didn't make it to Fenway and I know that our failure to reach the post-season is directly attributable to my absence. We delayed our departure for France in the (vain as it turned out) hope that our votes might make a difference, but ended up with Ant and Dec. ("What two things do you hate most about Clegg? His face.")
We have lost some important people. To name just three: the Captain, the great jazz pianist Billy Taylor, and the exemplary Jayaben Desai, who led the Grunwick strike and changed the lives of immigrant workers for (I hope) ever. We miss you all.
But at this time, late afternoon on New Year's Eve, my feelings are primarily and profoundly personal.
A very happy new year and love to: Jill; to Guy and Sophia; to Vic, Andi and Max; to Lara and Adam; and to Cass and Michael. (It's in age order, ok?)
And also to all our families and friends: may you have a great 2011. Loads of love.
Today's listening: BobDylan, Theme Time Radio Hour, Season 3, #25 Goodbye.