And on this, the last day of the year, Prudence is stuck at home feeling exceedingly sorry for herself. Thank Heaven for civilised industrial relations laws.
She hopes for a recovery in time for celebrations tonight. Or at least more effective painkillers, depending, of course, on whether she can drag herself to the apothecary.
However, distraction and a cup of tea must suffice, for now.
Much of the merde of the year has been chronicalled here - the death of both beloved pets, the cat in January, and the dog in October, various career woes best left without detail, an atrocious haircut.
Along with a litany of grumbles and complaints mostly to do with manners and grammar.
But there have been some good things - lovely colleagues, dear friends, some truly excellent dinner parties, a weekend at Margaret River during winter when it was all but deserted, turning 40 in spectacular style, vegetable bounties from the garden.
And soon - very soon - Prudence can celebrate her first blog-iversary. Which is terribly exciting. Blandwagon has a list of appropriate gifts, if you're so inclined...