KEY POINTS:
I'm too old to sit up until midnight on New Year's Eve but that doesn't preclude a little celebration with the best champagne from the QC's cellar and a special dinner for two.
No resolutions this year. Not that I don't stick to past commitments - in 2006 I followed my own orders to learn Maori and give up radio and television interviews for 12 months.
This time it's just a wish list. First, some of the live-and-let-live spirit would be nice and, by that, I don't mean the patronising kind of tolerance liberals have preached for years which has led, especially in Britain, to a society governed by an over-reaction to the "War on Terror".
If a little less "tolerance" had been afforded the militant, anti-Western Islamists who chose to live in the safety of a democratic country, the British now would not be suffering from the current Blair-led intrusions and Big Brother stuff-ups watching their every move.
Not to mention the extremes to which authorities have gone, in making every faith equal - local councils banning Christmas decorations or nativity scenes, schools abandoning carol services, stars on Christmas trees a no-no.
All this in a country where the Anglican faith originated.
This tolerance is, in truth, symptomatic of an attitude which says: "I'm actually better than you but, to be a good communitarian, I'll tolerate your lack of civilisation."
Consideration of your neighbours is the attribute I wish for our society. New Zealanders have a nasty habit of moving to another part of the country then forcing their own taste and culture on to a new community.
Next month, I'll proudly own chooks, a rooster and two pigs (prophetically to be named chorizo and salami) but we're lucky - no immediate neighbours and surrounded by generous farmers who let us ride horses over their properties, so long as we respect fences, stock and gates.
But a friend who's always lived in the country and who's renovated a farm cottage for homestays, can't have roosters because the guests complain of the noise.
That's right, they'd rather listen to fire sirens, tyre screeches - city bedlam which they don't classify as noise pollution.
Wellington folk find Martinborough a popular destination for weekend houses - we call it the Hamptons Syndrome. It's a landlocked village but visitors moan there's no fresh fish. Similarly, suburban-dwellers move into inner-city apartments then campaign to get bars and restaurants closed early to not disrupt their "peace".
I wish we'd appreciate what we have, before it's too late. It saddened me this week to read about the Queen Charlotte Sound property on the market for the first time since it was built 130 years ago. I know this place. Briefly, in 2004, I lived in Onahau Bay and passed this slice of 1880 every weekend. Now, we learn, someone will buy its uncomplicated beauty, bulldoze the homestead, subdivide, and build flash-Harry holiday mansions, no doubt replicating the soulless city where they live.
On a lighter note, I wish people would spell our Prime Minister's name correctly. John Key would probably like to duplicate himself (could we cope with two energiser bunnies?), but his name does not have an "s" on the end - there are not two of him.
And speaking of names, why cease using the term "Christian name"?
Is this, and saying "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas" another sign we're lurching towards a valueless society?.
I wish we'd be a little less precious about other people's comments, for instance when Tiger Woods' caddy, Steve Williams, called Phil Mickelson "a prick". The man's entitled to voice his view in private, surely, without calls for apologies and much public grovelling. Kiwis used to be so robust and hearty "sticks-and-stones-may-break-my-bones" kind of attitude.
Now there's a go-to agency for every imagined slight - Human Rights and Race Relations commissioners, Independent Police Conduct Authority, Advertising Standards Authority, Broadcasting Standards Authority.
There's the simple advice I give free to readers who email complaining about my "bile" - don't read it.
Finally, I wish people could be punctual. Lateness is the height of rudeness. However, those who are consistently late wear it as a badge of honour. Their inevitable apologies are insincere nonsense, they're not sorry at all, because lateness is easily avoided.
It's the sign of a disorganised and sloppy brain, so maybe I will have one New Year resolution - I shall wait no longer than 10 minutes for anyone who's late. Meanwhile, we are off on a four-wheel-drive trek around the South Island hinterland, led by Bill Hohepa - fishing, camping and of course being scared witless. If I return in one piece, I look forward to keeping you irritated this year. I wish you a Happy New Year.
