2015, the year that was….

…… responsible for a gazillion teenage hearts breaking, when “bad boy”(I am also doing actual air inverted commas here), Zayn Malik announced his departure from the most successful boyband of all time. Ironically named, One Direction….. that direction being, into obscurity.  A gazillion more hearts were broken, when the remaining members of the band announced they were ‘taking a break’.  So basically eighty percent of the world’s population, of between 11-17 year olds (and a few ladies of a certain age), imploded in tearful puffs of smoke.

This conveniently allowed room for new spawn, and thank God for that, because these were the most important of all the spawn, being born into the privileged world of celebrity.  All the music babies arrived in suitable fashion.  For example, the new Mumford was sporting tweed and rumour has it, playing a nose flute upon exit and Saint West was wrapped in swaddling cloths. Oh no wait, that was some of his dad’s dodgy looking surgical support bandage, sportswear.

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Saint West.  Allegedly……

And, a close friend (aka a naughty nurse from the hospital, selling their soul to the paps), also described the moment that a chorus of angels sang and a beam of light shot out of Kim K’s vajayjay immediately after.  Baby Yeezus was born again. (Watch it kid, there’s only room for one of us on the planet.)  Actresses/models/athletes/royalty/other talented folk…… and Fearne Cotton all multiplied.

Just before Kim burst, she was seen supporting her husband as he controversially headlined Glastonbury. Declaring himself, modest chap that he is, “the greatest living rock star” in the world. Uuuuummmmm……… nope. There were many more Kanye-isms, of course, far too many to mention here (unless you’ve got a spare 24 days, three hours and twenty minutes to read it all). But most notably he mentioned, very seriously, his intention to run for the Whitehouse, 2020. I’ll just give you a moment to digest that.

And by the laws of all the Yins and all the Yangs, other people croaked it.

Noted space explorer, Leonard Nimoy finally went, where a lot of men had gone before…… and really to be honest, as a fitting tribute should have been jettisoned into space as a final mark of respect.  But, sadly they rejected my suggestion.  (And issued a court order to never be in touch, by any means, ever again.)  There were lots of people, actresses, actors, scientists, directors, authors, wrestlers and my balcony rose, that all passed to the other side.  And I suspect by the time I return after the holidays, my jasmine and lemon tree too.  But they won’t show those at the Oscars. It’s a pity Leonard died when he did really, because I think he would have loved the new space documentary, Star Wars, that’s taken the world by storm. It’s supposed to be very good. You should see it…….

Saddest of all, as a proud Brit, I was sorry to say farewell to the Queen of England, who is sadly no longer with us. The family gave her a state funeral in Liverpool, North West England, to illustrate just how much they have truly morphed into a new, ‘we’re one of people’ monarchy. *sniff

Back on Barcelona turf I grew up, again, and got myself my own place. It transpired that it was a very lucky move for this PANK, in the shenanigans stakes. Charming young men were the flavour for 2015. And a few older ones. And a couple my age. But mostly younger. And French……. Or Italian.

But it is in that very same flat that I’ve had my first experience of stalking, with the local ne’er-do-well following me around the neighbourhood, ringing my doorbell and lurking on the corner opposite, just to stare and fill me with fear. It freaked me out enough to barricade myself in every night, for the immediate two months after, and sleep with a hammer by the bed. (Still there). Which, I made a note to remember to remove, when ‘guests’ came to stay. After the poor, lovely Italian boy hurriedly organised himself and shot out the door, having clocked it and tentatively asking if it was there for any particular purpose. Bless.

Jeremy Clarkson was thuggish about his choice of sandwich, David Cameron was publicly shamed for shenanigarising with a pig, a dentist ruined his entire life (and all good karma for many lives hence) by killing a lion called Cecil. The British election saw a new band of political groupies emerge – probably the surviving, displaced One Direction fans looking for a new focus – some were named the ‘Millifans‘, and not long after that, Corbynmania struck.  He actually could have been one of the Beatles, he’s so old. And a vegetarian, as it happens. *whispers conspiratorially behind hand* “Do you think he’s John Lennon, I don’t believe he was ever really dead”. I mean, look! Who doesn’t love a dear old vegetarian beardy, whose hobby is manhole spotting?  And 2015 saw loads of politicians throw themselves on their swords, after failing to keep boiled Cam-eron out of office. I suggested that Clegg and Miliband have a duel to the death. Again, I was advised very strongly to stop corresponding.

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an irate Oompah Loompah.  Or something

And then Donald Trump became a real contender for the Presidential race, in the good ol’ U S of A. God help us all, as he starts building walls all over the planet to keep us in, or out, or….. damn, I’m so confused, maybe even a dome to stop the actual aliens. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I could trust an oompah loompah to rule the most powerful country in the world.

Adele came back with a Lionel Richie classic and the world went bonkers. It was almost as if she had actually been cryogenically frozen and reanimated, such was the furore surrounding her disappearance and subsequent reemergence.

 

 
And then this happened……
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And while all the ridiculousness above was happening, there were kidnappings, historical monument destructions, murders, the mass migration of refugees, terrorist attacks and put them on repeat and repeat and repeat, and you’ve more or less got the picture for the year.

No-one can deny that it’s been a monumentally bumpy ride, with an enormous amount of despair and craziness and tears, of both joy and sadness (but heavily weighted towards the latter) – but we got there in the end.

Let’s all hope that 2016 is filled with measures of silliness equal to this year, but let’s also hope more strongly that we see a lot more of the happiness, and less of the heartbreak.

And if we could all say an extra special prayer for little lost Harry Styles to be adopted by Madonna.

I do worry about these things.

Have a wonderful end to your year, and best wishes for the next.

Annie P
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