2012 is quite clearly our year. It is the year we move to London and get married. The end (for now) of my transatlantic adventures and the start of a life of marital bliss.
Some other people and organisations seem to think it is their year. And I'm not just talking about Blue Ivy Jay-Z Carter.
There's Her Maj and Prince Philip, celebrating 60 years reigning over the lumpen British masses. And the London Olympic committee, for example, polishing the tiles on the Underground so that the American visitors can admire the reflection of their shiny white teeth as they wait for an overcrowded tube to whisk them back from the Olympic village to leafy Kensington. Not forgetting those athletes: I bet that nice Rebecca Adlington and that naughty Tom Daley think 2012 is their big year.
I don't mind sharing 2012. It has its advantages.
My birthday card had special Jubilee teabags in it. That doesn't happen every year.
There's a glut of Bank Holidays - a four day weekend to mark the Jubilee, for example. And there's a tonne of 2012 memorabilia around. I have put a disproportionate amount of teatowels on our wedding list, and am calling them 'our special 2012 commemorative teatowels'.
As we dry the dishes together in the years ahead, we will always look back on 2012 as 'our year'.