We ourselves must walk the path

So, what happened this year then? I should first apologise for the content of the blog, which was consistently neither relevant nor interesting. If it's any consolation, the comments that I have left on other people's blogs have generally been even worse; bloggers must wince when they see my username appear. All I can do is quote Rudyard Kipling: "You must learn to forgive a man when he's in love. He's always a nuisance."

Anyway, on to the much sought after Epictetus annual awards:

• Opera of the year:  'The Flying Dutchman' with an honourable mention for  'Tales of Hoffman'
• Theatre of the year: 'Beryl' with an honourable mention for 'The History Boys'.
• Gig of the year: I've seen an awful lot of excellent gigs, but it's a toss up between  Nils Lofgren and Tom Russell with an honourable mention for Gigspanner (which good as it was I don't seem to have posted about before), plus of course the Ilkley Blues Festival for sheer value for money.
• Film of the year: 'Lunchbox' with a dishonourable mention for 'Spectre'; once again I haven't actually been to see that many films.
• Book of the year: City of Wisdom and Blood, the second in the Fortune of War series by Robert Merle, the first volume of which was my book of the year for 2014. There's a pattern developing.
• Wargame of the year: There's been a lot of Seven Years War this year and I'm going to go for the large game in the summer where James got all his Prussians and Russians out on the table.
• Boardgame of the year: Quartermaster General, no doubt at all, but there have been a lot of very good ones among the 265 plays of 134 different games that I've managed this year.
• Cake of the year: I think pear and chocolate although the elder Miss Epictetus is a firm champion of the spiced fruit loaf.
• Event of the year: I'm tempted to cheat and choose every time that the big, bouncy woman came and sat on my lap; or possibly the Otley Wool Fair (I really enjoyed that day); or perhaps a truly memorable afternoon in the Victoria Hotel (definitely my pub of the year). However, instead I'm opting for a walk up to Top Withens that I took at the end of August, during which we got wet, the past was laid to rest and the future mapped out. As Christina Rossetti wrote in the poem of the year:

I loved you first: but afterwards your love 

Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song