Hoping for peace, as unlikely a prospect as that might seem, in Israel and Palestine. Hoping in the short-term for ceasefire, for safety for the people of Gaza. And in the longer term, hoping for people, Israeli and Palestinian, with the vision to see a way forward and the courage to take it. Hoping for the Russian forces in Ukraine to withdraw, for those in Russia who are able to see both the moral obscenity and the cost of the invasion to prevail.

Hoping for a general election (well, OK, that’s going to happen barring a coup d’état) that decimates the Tory Party, that humiliates the Reform/Brexit/UKIP and that brings us a government with integrity, compassion, courage and competence. It’s hard to imagine after the last 13 years what that would be like, but hey, it would be bloody brilliant, wouldn’t it.

Hoping for action on climate change, action that really starts to make a difference. Hoping that the voices of those who care about the future of our planet more than they care about the profits of industry will prevail.

Hoping that the forces of hatred that create violence against refugees, against women, against LGBTQ people, against black and brown people, against Jews, will be shamed and marginalised, that those who enable and encourage those forces will be defeated, that instead we will find ways to open our lives and hearts to each other without fear.

And for me personally, I’m hoping that I can continue to hold on to the three words that I took away from the Fire & Rain widows’ retreat: clarity (this blog is one of the ways I find clarity, by writing about the process of grieving and of making this new life), creativity (again this blog is vital to me, but I’m hoping for other writing projects over the next year), connections (I’m still talking regularly to the women with whom I shared that retreat, and I am so fortunate in my friends and family, who have supported me so wonderfully).

For my Dad, lost in the fog of Alzheimers, and so often troubled, restless, angry and fearful, I’m hoping for peace and calm. The fog won’t lift again, we know that. But if his new home can help him to be not only safe but also at peace, we will all be deeply relieved and grateful.

It might seem frivolous (but it matters, if you understand, you’ll understand) to add that I’m hoping too that Forest will continue to climb away from the relegation zone, and ensure that in 2024 they will continue to be Premier League.

And I’m hoping for lots more of the things that enrich my life. More music in 2024 – more great gigs, at Crookes Social Club, the Crucible Studio, Tramlines and other venues, as well as music nights at home. More great films, for theatre and opera outings. For my new book-lined study to be a place of contemplation, of losing myself in good books.

Hoping for another good year for Under the Stars, and that I can contribute to their inspiring and vital work in useful ways.

I don’t make resolutions, but I hope to find the willpower to walk more, to be braver in going out on my own, to take better care of my health.

For the people I love, I hope for good things, for love and companionship, for good health and a bit of good luck. And I hope to spend time with them during the course of the year.  

And for all of us, some thoughts on hope:

Sheenagh Pugh – Sometimes

Sometimes things don’t go, after all,

from bad to worse.  Some years, muscadel

faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don’t fail,

sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

A people sometimes will step back from war,

elect an honest man, decide they care

enough, that they can’t leave some stranger poor.

Some men become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best efforts do not go

amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.

The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow

that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.

Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day (E. B. White)