The Times Magazine 7lot of people seem down
on new year’s resolutions
these days, which is a
shame. Nobody’s perfect,
least of all me, so I’ve
been putting serious
thought into how to be
a better man in 2022.
For instance...- Stop using the expression, “It is what it is.”
A bad habit I picked up from Love Island and
which has turned me into a conversational
cul-de-sac. I wasn’t exactly Noël Coward
before, but lately it’s got quite bad. Political
scandal in the news? Child hobbles into the
room with a compound fracture? Huge meteor
heading towards Earth? Five little words and
I’ve said all I’m going to say on the issue. - Know my children better. Last week, my
seven-year-old son was asking me a lot of
questions about theology. He seemed eager for
knowledge relating to different belief systems,
pantheons, sacred rituals and other esoteric
stuff. I felt flattered that he was coming to me
with these queries. Only then I walked into
the kitchen to find him leading his little sister
in feverish prayer, and that he had developed
an entire religion replete with animal-headed
gods who required Lego offerings, and in which
he served as an all-powerful prophet-king. I had
to have a quiet word with him. To be honest,
I should probably have seen this coming. - Get back into cold showers. I used to
start the day by getting my other half to spray
me with the garden hose while our children
watched, giggling. It was really horrible,
particularly when she would score cheap laughs
by nailing me square in the plums. But it was
also nice knowing that, however bad your day
was going to be, the worst part was over. - Accept my face. I’ve been trying, on and off,
to grow and maintain a moustache. But I need
to concede that I just can’t do it convincingly.
I’d thought it would make me look heroic, but
instead it lends me the weak and seedy air of
someone who dodged conscription and makes
a steady living selling black-market nylon tights
to his friends’ widows. - Drink less beer. This might be the year
I move on to wine. I tried some the other
day (white) and it was really quite nice.
Watch this space! - Lift weights. Ever since I started following
Dwayne “the Rock” Johnson on Instagram,
I’ve been seeing lots of videos featuring
A
NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS HOW TO BECOME
A BETTER MAN: A^10 -POINT PLAN
Some of us need self-improvement more than others, says Ben Machell
KATIE WILSON
muscular men doing bench presses and stuff.
And for all the fuss they make, I think I could
do it quite easily. Is that arrogant? Or simply
the confidence of somebody who regularly
wows the Ocado man by lifting six (six!)
shopping bags at a time? We shall see...- Watch more TV. Or at least watch a greater
variety. Last year I developed a terminal habit
of watching episodes of The World at War on
a loop. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because,
in testing times, it’s comforting to lose yourself
in something with a happy – well, happy-ish
- ending. But it’s socially limiting. Our friends
would be chatting about Succession and I’d
be trying to steer the conversation back to the
Maginot Line. It’s worse at the school gates. Do
you know how hard it is to crowbar references
to Operation Torch into small talk with other
mums and dads? So perhaps I’ll stop trying.
- Stop chewing my fingers. As soon as I get
remotely stressed or anxious – if some oven
chips are taking too long, for example, or if
my football team aren’t winning 3-0 after ten
minutes – I start to silently flay my digits,
leaving a pile of fleshy confetti all around me.
My family are repulsed by it, and rightly so.
Maybe in 2022, rather than systematically
cannibalising myself I need to a) vocalise
my feelings more, or b) take up smoking. - Understand betting odds. Twenty to one?
Nine to two? I’ve never come close to getting
my head around it. I’m not sure why this
bothers me so much. I just have this vague
anxiety that one day my life may depend on it. - Be less of a hypocrite. A few months ago
I found myself having an altercation when,
while walking my kids back from school, a
man in an Audi drove past at a trillion miles
an hour. I shouted at him, but then he braked,
turned his car around and confronted me.
What, he wanted to know, was my problem?
I told him my problem was that he was driving
too fast. He told me to mind my business.
I told him it was my business. It was all very
tense and exciting, like a scene from a slightly
bouji, north London remake of Peaky Blinders.
He ended up zooming off and for the next
few days I was basically levitating with self-
righteousness. Then a letter arrived from the
Met saying that I had been caught speeding
and had to do a driving awareness course. My
girlfriend thought it was hilarious. I suppose it
was. I cannot let it happen again. n
Caitlin Moran returns next weekI need to understand
betting odds. I’m not
sure why. I just have
this vague anxiety
that one day my life
may depend on it