Good intentions are a shy animal. He reliably appears between the smell of raclette and the New Year’s hangover, presents himself ready to fight like a wild sow with younglings and disappears back into the thicket of habit by Epiphany at the latest.

“Everything will be different this year,” we say, meaning: for real this time. This time not only less sugar, but none at all. This time not just more exercise, but also running the Berlin Marathon in the fall. This time not just less cell phones, but a life that feels like 1997 again, only with Indian ale from the micro-brewery instead of canned beer. And then it goes back to the way it was.