Worse was to come. As I paid the bill I left her a big tip.

The problem wasn’t that my resolution was hard to achieve. Quite the opposite. It was so limpid, so absurdly simple, so lacking in the kind of grand gesture that transform men and women into immortals I easily let it drop.

What I need is a real challenge. Something beyond a mere resolution: I need a revolution. I have to go full Lenin and Trotsky, Castro and Che, Gandhi and Greta.

The next time I get served a bad meal, which is inevitable in Perth, I’m not going to utter a word (the King’s mantra, “A little less conversation, a little more action” is now mine).

I’m going pick up the offending plate, embark on the long march to the kitchen, slam it down in front of the chef and demand everyone be treated equally. “You eat it!” I will cry.

Of course, fomenting revolution in the kitchen will just be the start. In 2023 I will not simply whinge or even take little steps toward improving things, which is always doomed to failure: I will demand more of myself and more of others. As Greta said at TEDx Stockholm in 2018: “Everything needs to change, and it has to start today.”

For example, the next time somebody tailgates me on the freeway, I will take down their number plate, phone the police and inform them that I have seen this vehicle circling the local high school. A few hours being questioned by law enforcement will give him time to think about driving his four-wheel drive up someone’s backside. It’ll put him on notice.

When a mechanic calls me up with a list of things that have to be done to my car and a second eye-wateringly expensive list of things that should be done I will stop what I am doing, Uber it to the garage and ask him to take me through the problems, explaining the function of each of the parts that need replacing and showing me the wear and tear. I will demand a quick course in mechanics before handing over two grand.

And when I next come across some poor bugger broken down at the lights I won’t just look the other way or give them a “But what can I do?” gesture and drive on. I will be prepared. I will have a stack of traffic cones in my boot, some flags and, in case it is at night, a large flashlight.

I’ll pull up next to the distressed driver, put down the traffic cones to slow down or block the flow of traffic and make a safe situation, demand that other drivers get out and help me push the vehicle to the side of the road (or make them push while I give out expert directions) and get the traffic moving again. A quick two-week course in martial arts will ensure I am not intimated by motorists.

Of course, it is not all about demanding change from other people. A true revolutionary makes re-education a top priority. It needs to be thorough-going.

Take my attempts to learn Spanish, which has been going on since Antonio Banderas made his Hollywood debut in The Mambo Kings.

I have poured over many grammars and retained nothing; I have listened to countless tapes, CDs and now audiobooks which resulted in me speaking in English with a Spanish accent (sexy but useless); and I have watched every Spanish-set cooking show and end up too busy drooling absorb anything. “Yo soy idiota,” is all I can say.

I am now planning a month in Barcelona. Full-immersion Spanish. I will not eat unless I go to the markets and ask for food in the local tongue; I will have no communication with anyone unless I am attempting to sound like Javier Bardem (with a little swagger in my hips); and when a tourist asks me for directions I sneer in perfectly accented Spanish that I don’t speak English and why don’t you try learn un poquito Espanol yourself.

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And it is time to take my attempts to become a lap swimmer to the next level. No more getting passed by elderly women who cruise up and down the local pool like seals (“Move over, sonny Jim!“). I am going to stick a picture of Rottnest on the top corner of my computer screen and make the channel swim my goal. I am going to fully Shelly Taylor-Smith this thing.

But first things first. Do you think it’s okay if I ask the waiter if the fish was freshly caught or frozen?

Ugh. This is going to be tough. Change is harder than you think. I’ll start manana.

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