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New Year's poem

Hooray, Hooray, for New Years Day!

Hooray, hooray, it's New Year's Day
wish we could go out and play
but every place we want to go,
is packed with cars, it's such a blow!
100 thousand more each year
makes it very, very hard to steer
and all those bikes an extra trouble
I'd rather live inside a bubble.

Twenty Thirteen where shall we meet?

Twenty thirteen awaits us tomorrow. What is reasonable to expect of the year which some may see as being an unlucky number? Should we reach for the sky or just try to maintain business as usual?

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