Rather than by resolution he rings in the New Year via the guilty course of confession.
With tongue in cheek he admits to his annual indulgence of that most headaching-producing bottom-shelf libation, Martini Asti. What began as a skint student's joking bond with the only champagne label he could afford has grown to a lifetime's purposeful selection.
What has spurred his dedication to that honey-hued sugar water, you ask? The simple pleasure of unforgettable nights barely remembered.
Soon, time will demonstrate that, indeed, it does march on, yet his is an equal demonstration that not all things change.