New Year’s resolutions have always been something to beat myself up with by the second week of January. It seems perverse to set yourself up for failure right at the start of the year. New Year is something we just made up anyway, so who cares? The truth is, we can come up with something to fail at any time we like, which is both liberating and a reminder of the futility of self-improvement.

Still, it is that quest for self-improvement that will be fuelling this new column. My comedy career aside, I am a father of three, a husband, a son, a brother and a vegan. If the mention of my veganism annoyed you, that was the only reason for its inclusion.

Being away a lot on tour means that my family has to suffer an inordinate amount of overcompensation, as I return home with skewed ideas of what counts as quality time. I will force everyone into a cinema trip, insistent that three hours in the dark in silence is the perfect way for us all to re-engage. One son staged a protest by spending the entire time facing away from the screen, which would have been impressive if it wasn’t so embarrassing.

Meanwhile, my mother complains that I do not see her or get in touch enough. My failings are compounded by a younger brother who is much better at both things, and in that sense takes on the role of older sibling. A high proportion of my family interactions are apologies. My mum texts to say she doesn’t know why she bothers to text, as I never reply. It’s very difficult to know whether to reply to that or not.

Falling short in these areas does not preclude me from taking on other challenges to fail at. Last year I started and stopped boxing, meaning that the only real change to my life is a trainer in Merstham, who is annoyed with me for repeated cancellations. I tried to learn to DJ, entered and failed to attend a Tough Mudder. I completed seven lessons of Rosetta Stone Spanish because I read somewhere that it reduces the likelihood of dementia. I bought and returned a moped. My life consists of intense focus on urgent areas of development, and then abandonment of that focus shortly afterwards.

This year started with an obsession with losing weight, following a number of timely messages from the cosmos. The first came when I was at Chessington World of Adventures with my family over Christmas. Two men asked me for a photo, and I duly obliged. They later tweeted me to say thanks, accompanied by a photo of a very fat man who looked a bit like me. The reality of what I looked like versus what I had in my head was shocking but, tellingly, not shocking enough to stop me eating a fourth jam doughnut.

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The second message from the cosmos came during a recent gig. I am in the process of writing a new tour and performing work in progress. This involves standing on stage with a notebook, reading ideas out and trying not to have an existential crisis. I caught a glimpse of myself in a bar mirror and noticed that my shirt looked as if it was finding the contours of my body an ongoing surprise.

The chances are you will have read this thinking, “He’s being a bit hard on himself” or, more likely, “He’s really shit at being a person.” But this is the year all that changes. This year I will become a better father, husband, son, brother, and most importantly of all, vegan, and I will detail my endeavours here. That is, of course, provided I manage to stick to my resolution to write this column.