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I’m a huge, HUGE, fan of “Who’s Line is It Anyway,” an improv comedy show that last I checked (if still running) was being shown on the WB with Aisha Taylor as host.

My love for the show goes clear back to the original British TV version hosted by the dryly humorous Clive Anderson. I say the “TV version,” because the show dates back to the late 80s as a radio show.

The show itself, as I’ve mentioned, revolves around an improvisation format featuring a variety of games the actors take part in, making up everything as they go. No script.

The tag line for the show, in some fashion or another, as I remember Drew Carey saying, is “Welcome to Who’s Line, where everything is made up and the points don’t matter.”

This was my extremely long way of letting you, my stalwart readers, know how I generally feel going into the new year these days.

But I get ahead of myself. As I have been infrequently penning this column these days, let me quickly bring you up to speed in Life of Johnson 2022.

The cats are fine Mayor Steve and send their regards.

The mead experiment continues chugging along under the happily title, “Maiden’s Rest Home Meadery.”

And now that I have a proper flag pole given to me for Christmas, I will soon be unveiling my very own pirate flag, also a Christmas gift, along with the rise of Little Nassau.

As my former co-worker Amanda McKnight once said so eloquently, I struggle with maturity.

That roughly catches you all up on my dealings through the year. I’m not exactly lighting up each year with explosions of brilliance. More like stumbling through each month in a comical flaying of limbs in a futile attempt to keep my balance.

Yes, an even longer lead-in to a column talking about the upcoming new year.

I approach a new year with a heightened sense of caution and trepidation. While many see the turning over of the calendar as a new slate or a new page, left blank to begin writing a new chapter of their life, I tend to look at it as just another revolution around the sun, because it’s a reminder that we are still at the whim of the universe and when the universe still has the ability to toss a hunk of rock at us, I tend to take the day-by-day approach.

Part of that day-by-day approach is also tempered by just a mess of the last two years, arguably the last four years in some respects. While I’m not against long-term goals, I think we should be tempered by shorter goals of a mundane nature — like making sure I have maple syrup before I make pancakes.

Or ensuring I’m wearing pants before leaving the house each day. I have to be honest with you all, that’s not always a given.

I was a man who used to make New Year’s resolutions, and long time readers of this space — all seven of you — are familiar with me yammering on about that in past year-end columns. That is to say, I no longer make resolutions because I’m well aware of my own failings to keep promises. I once swore to eat better. I once swore to work out. I once swore to pick up a new hobby.

Now, I generally just swear. Part of my issue is that I’m often distracted by the bright and shiny thing. Or in my case, the next thing to come along. I can have an eye on the prize, but often I get sidetracked by the other eye on the other prize.

I’m not sure it’s possible, but I guarantee that I will be the first person to ever sprain an eye.

I do try my level best to look positively on the next year. After all, there will still be coffee on the other side of 2022 and that’s a big step in the right direction.

I have good friends along with my best friend currently living with me. A happy family overall family, two cats that don’t annoy me all the time and I work in a community that has shown me and awful lot of … patience.

Still,however, waiting for the universe to grace me with a lottery win.

Until then, Happy New Year everybody and may all of you remember to put your pants on before leaving the house.