Even in London I could be in France. I am sitting in a French restaurant in Mayfair, reading a French menu, with four of my most fabulous friends. We are having Christmas lunch in January, having failed to meet before Christmas. (Afterwards, I discover that Jeremy Paxman was sitting in the alcove behind me, but no-one thought to mention it.)
Over lunch we discuss plans for the year ahead. Two of our number are launching an exciting new beauty venture and planning to get married (in a chateau near me) in November; another is launching a bespoke leather interiors company; and the fourth is planning a new job and a Jaguar. My plans for the year are slightly less exciting but include the organisation of our next group holiday (to Ibiza). I raise the issue of whether we really need to stay in a private villa as per usual (very expensive) or whether we could get by in a B&B (a very fashionable one, where a well-known hairdresser is said to put up the overspill from his villa).
'Is there even any point in discussing this?' says one of our group with a wry smile. 'Since it's you who's organising it, it's safe to say that we won't be going. We're still waiting for the Milan shopping trip you promised two years ago.'
So that's at least one resolution for 2008 then. I am also told off for not updating my blog very much in the last month and am very touched to find that all present log in every single day hoping for a snippet of life in France. (Or at least that's what they are kind enough to tell me). So, as I told my accountant later that afternoon, I really must do better this year!