And we're back to the countdown week. Over the decades, the build-up to the New Year has reached such dizzying heights that it makes me want to lie down.

I think the only good New Year's Eve party ever held in Malta was the one out on the streets at the turn of the millennium. Other than that, New Year's Eve parties tend to be a disappointing experience.

How many times have you spent huge amounts of money on overpriced dinners? (I've seen an advert for one at €150 per person this year). Or how many times have you forked out wads of cash to some 'XYZY Promotions' and not even managed to get inside the venue itself? Or had your coat 'misplaced'? Or ended up manoeuvering your way between 'revellers' in pools of vomit?

Then there is the enforced gregariousness and kissing at midnight; so staged. What if it's a terrible kiss? Would that be an omen for a miserable year? How about if I don't feel jolly? Or I get the urge to sit in the corner and bemoan the world's gloomy (climatic) fate?

As you might have gathered, I tend to give New Year's Eve parties a miss. I no longer do compulsory jollity. There's a touch of Valentine's Day about NYE: good times, just like romance, can't be forced upon the masses.

I think it's far wiser to stay at home on the eve, perhaps with a few friends over, perhaps not. And then, over a glass of Perignon champagne, you can have a little think about your dreams for the new year.

Mark, I write dreams, not resolutions. I hate resolutions. They start off from the premise that we are flawed and desperately need to iron out our imperfections in order to be able to join the 'perfect' people club. But, more than that, resolutions are by their very nature wont to fail to come to pass, and we end up feeling guilty. And I hate guilt even more than I hate resolutions. Bah, it's such a pointless feeling.

So, this year, instead of resolutions, I propose that we all slump on the sofa and dream. I sometimes think that we lead such a frantic kind of life that we don't even allow ourselves the licence to dream. We point fingers at children for suffering from attention deficit disorders, but have you seen the glazed, hyperactive, vein-bulging, tense looks of grown-ups recently?

Nothing puts me off more than self-declared 'driven' people whose idea of conversation is to brag on and on about their workaholicism.

I think it much more attractive and, dare I say it, sexier to be a laid-back individual who has been sensible enough to create an enjoyable life for himself.

Here's how this can be done: wander around at home, in your old pants and T-shirt, drinking tea without a care in the world. And dream. It's not the money-making or 'What-I-would-do-if-I-won-the-Super-5' visions I'm talking of here. But dreams of a pleasant life.

For example: I dream of a farm holiday where I wake up in the morning to find a cow staring pensively at me through the window, totally unperturbed by my bad hair day.

I dream of having several children over, playing charades on Sunday afternoons, followed by Victorian-style sing-alongs on the piano (I'd love a piano too and I'd love to wake up one day knowing how to play it).

I dream of throwing cherry pips out of the kitchen window and waking up the next day to a huge cherry tree in the garden.

I dream of writing by candle light, using an inkpot and a quill.

I dream of having hot-stone massages for days, nay weeks, on end. I dream of lunching and dining at home on a table with an elegant white tablecloth on top.

I dream of lolling about on the sofa doing nothing except finishing trains of thoughts.

You might say: what a lazy fool, with no ambition. Sure, but is ambition the passport to happiness? Why should we aspire to overwork or to assiduously climb the career-ladder when in reality they are just blind alleys? By the time you achieve whatever it is that you're ambitious about, you're so burnt out that you barely have the energy to love it, let alone have a good laugh.

Aim low: it's about dreaming a life so simple, so laid-back, that despite the unavoidable upsets, it would still be possible to make some of the things come true. There is a song by The Levellers which goes: 'What a beautiful day, hey, hey, I'm the king of all time... and nothing is impossible'.

Yes, this coming year, lazy is the new sexy.