A hackneyed anecdote among astronomy lecturers describes a worried questioner asking: "How long did you say it would be before the sun burnt the earth to a crisp?" On receiving the answer, "Five billion years," the questioner responds with relief: "Thank God for that, I thought you said five million."

And funny clothes and electronic gewgaws aside, it's all just guilt, a horrible, yawning, apologetic guilt towards everyone whose footprints we're crossing, whose predictions we're stepping through. I feel the slight weight of those reading these words tomorrow or next week or next December, and wonder dimly what we'll have done to the world by then.

And I'm off to drink things. Have a new year, everyone.