Be warned; this article was conceived on the 2 January and, as such, emanates from the mind of a gentleman whose insides then resembled the contents of a can of Pedigree Chum.
It all began when I decided to join a group of my most feckless and reckless chums on an escapade to the countryside for New Year's Eve. I shan't bother to elucidate on what transpired except to say that, when the festivities had finally concluded, a once eloquent dilettante had metamorphosed into a slurring pig. That slurring pig, as you have no doubt deduced, was me. During one particularly imprudent episode I tried, maladroitly, to improvise a new Kites track on the pianoforte, forgetting that pigs lack the dexterity to play instruments.
Afterwards, as I lay catatonic on what I decided was to be my deathbed, my mind turned to thoughts of my own mortality. Anyone who has reasoned, in a moment of egregious unruliness, that port makes an excellent substitute for Ribena will know that I am not being sensational; I genuinely thought my end was nigh. And yet, hours before I could not have been further from such macabre meditations.
As the clock strikes midnight on 31 December, we all dream of a new beginning. We pray that the New Year will act as a harbinger of transformation in our petty lives. We believe, mistakenly, that it will usher in prosperity, romance or, best of all, an end to Katie Price's career.
Well, dream on dreamers. The most we can expect from 2013 is the onslaught a triple-dip recession and a new series of Downton Abbey. Admittedly, the latter eventuality is not entirely disagreeable, but one can't base their sole raison d'etre on a BBC period drama.
Coupled with these sanguine fantasies is the endless flurry of New Year's resolutions. So much ink has already been spilt on this fatuous subject that I will not seek to expend more wit on it herein. The point is, why do all of us, myself included, become so medievally superstitious at this time of year? It is primitive, it is antediluvian, it is befitting of a scientologist.
Even before Christmas Day we had to endure scenes of credulous Russians bearing candles to protect themselves from the Mayan apocalypse. I don't mean to sound mordacious, but if the Mayan calendar could not predict the demise of its own illustrious civilisation, how could it possibly be relied upon to date, with any degree of exactitude, the termination of life on planet earth?
So, let's say, hypothetically, that I somehow survive this hangover that bruises like a personal visitation from Beelzebub and his dark satanic horde; let's say that Britain weathers the recession and that the writers of Downton find some way of resurrecting Matthew - their best-quaffed star.
The truth is, it is important to have something to look forward to in 2013. Most of us cannot bear to peel away the blankets during these early wintry months and trudge to our offices through the sludge and detritus of yesterday's failures. January and February loom over the beginning of the year like brooding stalagmites ready to impale us on their frosty spires.
Therefore, allow me to announce a few musical gems that will give us all a reason to go on breathing in 2013.
2: Dutch Uncles
6: Deptford Goth
9: Palma Violets
10: Tom Odell