It’s a funny thing, New Year’s Eve. The New Year symbolises a fresh start. A new beginning. A chance to put any misfortune and misadventure behind you and start again.

Trouble is, as the New Year cometh, you’re drunkenly mumbling most of the words to Auld Lang Syne and belting out the “Should auld acquaintance be forgot… And auld lang syne!” bit at vociferous volume to compensate.

You’ve resolved to be a better person this year, so what better way to christen it than by tongue-wrestling a girl whose name is a mystery and whose body looks like she’s smuggling a human-sized chewed marshmallow under her dress?

You’ve decided to transform yourself from gym-shy rotund donut-loving wobbler to a super-ripped specimen that makes Ronaldo look like he should “lay off the carbs”, so why not make the first meal of the year an undefined meat kebab monstrosity with all the trimmings?

We could go on, but you get the picture. New Year for the win.  

Lustrously-haired envy of butchers dogs everywhere Kim Kardashian suffers just the same.

She may have resolved to spend less time looking like a waxwork of herself in 2011.

She may have decided that it’s time to reign in the cleavage so she can finally be regarded as the serious actress/designer/producer/model/presenter/perfumier/writer [delete as appropriate] that she really is.

She may have decided to ditch the old faithful ‘right leg forward, left leg back, left hand to hip, right arm relaxed, shoulders back, chest out, stare into the distance like you’ve just seen two fawns copulating’ pose and stand in a different way.

But, when someone gives you a big Jiffy bag full of money and asks you to host the New Year’s Party at Tao in Las Vegas, it’s kinda hard to kick the old habits. 

Still, if it ain't broke...

"Dirty fawns..."