You know how you’re really looking forward to reading your usual newspaper or magazine at the end of the year and then are monumentally disappointed, because it contains nothing more than 52 pages of “An A to Z the Year in a few words and meaningful photos” – and it’s really annoying?

Well, I hope that this post isn’t quite like that, not last because I can never think what to put next to the letter “X”, and let’s face it, as 2014 has hardly been X rated (Going a bit Cosmo on you there and there’s also a risk my parents may read this), so I thought I would look back at my 2014, but do the edited version, so to speak.

So, this post is about looking back. Not reversing, because as some of you will be aware, I’m not terribly good at that and I can’t afford a new car with sensors or a camera.

This year has also been the year of the second time around man – and on that score, 2014 has a lot to answer for.

In a previous incarnation, I used to do family law work. Whilst I was poring over divorce petitions and trying to get all the columns to line up in an affidavit of means (fellow wannabe lawyers will know the heartache this causes), I gave little or no thought to the post-marital love lives after divorce of the clients I dealt with. As it turns out, I should have sought their advice and got some tips (apart from “I didn’t understand that letter you sent me.”)

If one thing has been consistent this year, it’s been the lesson that whilst I still haven’t met anyone who wants to do the decent thing and go out with me for more than a few weeks, much less get on a plane [bonus points if we turn left] and go on the unfathomable “mini break” (immortalized by Bridget Jones, a fictional character whom I used to view with both amusement and pity), I have met a lot of the same sort of men. Ladies, I’m talking “second time around” if you know what I mean. And what an eye opener it has been.

It’s like a tide has turned, gone out and left me washed up on divorcee beach, but without the financial settlement.

Dear readers, if I have one hint for you if you are dating (or trying to date) a recently separated / divorced, or to coin a phrase from Gwyneth, the Queen of Goop – the “consciously uncoupled” man, it’s this –accept that you are in for a LONG wait – a bit like queuing for a train at King’s Cross or Finsbury Park between Christmas and New Year.

Be prepared to be at the back (or at least towards the end) of the priority queue. If you have anything like my luck this year, the pecking order will look something like this:

1) His (amazing) children (Exactly how it should be, before Fathers for Justice send Batman or similar on to my balcony waving a painted bed sheet);
2) His job / career plus business travel everywhere but where you need him to be, which is actually the shortest journey of them all. (I know, I should have got the hint at this point);
3) Pleasing his ex-partner (very commendable if there are children involved, I just don’t need to hear about it);
4) His parent(s);
5) Other issues in his life;
6) You. If you’re lucky.

So, what’s my advice? But he’s The One, I hear you say. Then I would say this: Don’t do what I did and get caught in the friend zone, or even worse, in the “professional adviser” zone, which is like the friend zone, but with the added risk of :

a) Fretting about whether your advice is correct or not and wondering if you could be sued – but hey, at least it gets you 30 minutes on the phone;
b) Wondering how much the same advice would cost him if he actually went and paid for it (Not that I’m bitter…)

I was at a party the other night. I know, it surprised me too, given that it was fancy dress. (Top tip here, just wear something with leopard print on and say you are a “party animal” – works for most women from age 35 plus).

Towards the end of the evening, it struck me that there might be some terrifying line-up of single women all wondering if they might get to have a go at the lucky recently single chaps assembled (albeit dressed as a variety of characters, and I find it’s quite hard to chat up someone dressed as Buzz Lightyear or similar)– I was imagining some sort of dance-off a la Grease when Sandy and Danny are whooping it up to Hand Jive and then they get cruelly split up and Cha-Cha takes the prize.

So, I sloped off into the night with my dignity intact. As my friend Lesley and I agreed once, we may well end up old and lonely, but we would have kept hold of our pride! Which will keep us all warm at night, obviously.

Improve Yourself! (And what to do when caught on camera)

This year, I thought I would swap my nights in of pyjamas (never a onesie, they make me feel claustrophobic), TV and snack food for evenings full of demanding intellectual rigour and research.
In reality, this has turned out to be that I am still watching TV in Holiday Inns with my books in front of me, but that I feel guiltier about it and that I have bought an awful lot of mini post-it notes.

Yes, I am having a mini mid-thirties crisis and so have embarked upon a professional qualification in law via correspondence, for the next two years.

One thing I did not appreciate about the course was that we would be filmed. Not like that – no one would pay to watch me eat cakes in my nightwear, but in a mock Court Room. The best thing to do after you have been filmed addressing an imaginary Judge, is to watch it once and once only. Having seen myself on film, I have learned the following:

• Never wear a pale grey sweater that you thought made you look the embodiment of casual style – which in fact makes you look as if you have two sloths wrestling under it.

• I remain incapable of accepting feedback in silence. I have to agree, interject, and even if I manage not to do this, I utter strange involuntary noises – and not in a sexy way.

My awards for 2014

As we know, no review of the year would be complete without a few awards for standout moments, good and bad. Here are mine – virtually.

Most helpful comment and use of scientific deduction:

“Still single?” [Said by a woman who should know better, thirty seconds after I had seen her for the first time in two years. Who then proceeded to tell me all about her fiancé, the insensitive cow].

“It’s all a lottery, really.” [As above, but after a deep breath in when she realized that I didn’t want to know even more about her amazing soulmate].

Best meal: The Greenhouse, Mayfair, London by a country mile. So good that words almost fail me, apart from to pray that I get to go there again one day and yes, I admit that I looked at the bill [and almost fainted] when my date was away from the table. Quite simply because I could not believe someone had paid that much to take me out and I was completely staggered. Best night ever – and they gave me a cake to take home!

[Not my] Finest hour: Crying in front of a colleague of someone I fancied [who wasn’t there, do keep up] and pretending I wasn’t feeling terribly well at a drinks party. Apart from the tissue stuck underneath under my eyes and my mascara running as I had hiccups, I think I got away with it thanks to low level lighting and of course my amazing wit in such situations.

Oddest decision: Deciding to do some more study on top of a full time job, which involves commuting to the UK, considerable expense, but in the certain knowledge that if I don’t do it now, I never will and I shall detest myself forever. I have come to the conclusion that whereas other people have normal hobbies like walking and sailing (or anything else that sounds good on a dating website), studying appears to be mine. Oh well!

Biggest achievement: Getting to the end of 2014 without having my home repossessed.

Best scaremongering: “Do you have the gene that keeps you single?” I still cannot forgive you for this article or its title, Grazia Magazine. (I know, I’m shocked that it wasn’t from the Daily Mail either).

Best things ever: My sister, my family and my friends. Hands down.

So, what has 2014 taught me? Not as much as it should have, but definitely this:

• You are nothing without your health, your friends and your family.

• Keep going, keep hoping, don’t go to Waitrose when you are hungry and always have a bottle of something chilling in the fridge in case of company.

• When in doubt, order a Bellini.

• And maybe, just maybe, the best is yet to come.

So Happy New Year, don’t snog anyone you shouldn’t at midnight, but don’t lock yourself in the loo and cry either because otherwise crisps may well go to waste (I’ll be eating them) – and keep smiling as much as you can.

See you in 2015 and thank you for putting up with me this year – many wouldn’t.