Idle curiosity reveals that in 2024 this ledge amassed 28,000 words across 39 blogs. A search of last year’s text file also uncovers certain obsessions. Politics was mentioned 23 times, the long dead Margaret Thatcher, four times

Nigel Farage 20 times, Donald Trump 73 times. Yet my granddaughter only appeared four times, and she is properly lovely. What sort of priority does this suggest?

My heart attack raised 31 results, and, yes, I have banged on about that a bit. I even composed on piece late in the year about what I’d learned about having a heart attack, and what I’d learned about banging on about it.

Prime minister Keir Starmer earned 20 mentions. Rishi Sunak, now rubbed from the blackboard of public life, warranted ten. Boris Johnson earned 10, more than Liz Truss at six (she’ll blame my counting system, saying it’s a deep-state fix or something).

Kemi Badenoch, the new loon the Tories chose as leader, was worthy of a solitary mention from her time as “the reliably mad business secretary” (my words, not hers).

The general election that now seems so distant was mentioned seven times.

Twitter/X owner and Trump fanboy Elon Musk warranted 10 mentions. The BBC was referred to 47 times… sometimes in a praiseworthy manner, at others being complained about for all the free publicity it gives to Nigel Farage.

Squash was mentioned 14 times (no word of a win).

Cheese was mentioned 46 times, approximately the number of times I would eat cheese on toast in a week, if left to my own devices. Cheese also earned a bonus check or two in those heart attack columns.

Novels have been alluded to six times, to remind myself to start another. God was cited on 12 occasions, largely in the context of having ‘saved’ Donald Trump from an assassin’s bullet; a God responsible for such a ‘miracle’ turns out not to be for me.

Sourdough bread appeared only once. Remarkable, considering how often I wang on about baking the stuff.

GB News was mentioned nine times, eight more times than I have ever watched it.

The Daily Mail won six mentions, the Telegraph 18. This is odd as I don’t care what those newspapers think about anything; all I do is look at the front pages to warm up my left-over anger.

Take yesterday morning. The knighthood for London mayor Sir Sadiq Khan got both newspapers in a spiteful lather, leaving the astute political commentator Steve Richards to tweet: “It’s impossible to have any understanding of British politics without constantly referencing how right wing and hypocritical the media is here.”

Here are those grubby pages…

The Tories knighted and ennobled all sorts of unworthy characters (Sir Gavin Williamson, anyone?) and the attack on Khan seems to be only a sidestep from straight racism.

Mind you, I do wish politicians would stop giving each other honours.

But does worrying about all this stuff do any good, solve anything, make the world better? Is carping from the sidelines with a degree of wit a worthy pastime? It’s certainly fun, but sometimes I wonder about all the politics on this ledge, gathered like the dead sweepings of autumn. To swear off politics all together would be a regret, though, as politics remains my go-to cause of inspiration. The push and shove of it is engaging, even if often what we are shown is a distraction from what’s really going on.

One old friend said after reading my latest heart attack reflection that I was wasted on politics. A kind thought, but I might be lost without it.

Anywhere, here is the actor Kieran Culkin speaking in a recent Guardian interview with Charlotte Edwardes, complaining that “all the big stuff like Trump, or climate, or war, or phones, it’s too much… it’s overwhelming”.

Culkin will switch on the news, “Watch for 10 minutes and go, ‘Oh, we’re all fucked. Got it.’ Like, that’s the narrative. I try not to dwell on it too much…”

‘Oh, we’re all fucked. Got it.’

Not a cheerful motto, but a good one.

As it’s the first day of a fresh one, Happy New Year. Let’s say hello to 2025 and shut the door on 2024 (not my favourite year of all the years).