I’m writing this in what can only be described as a foul mood.
Christmas now seems but a distant memory and, although I’m sure I enjoyed it at the time, the net result of the recent festive period is that I’m now poor and fat.
The return to the daily grind has left me so ridiculously tired that it’s frankly astonishing to me that I actually do work for more of the year than I don’t. How have I been coping all this time? I deserve some kind of an award for bravery.
I don’t think I’m overstating it when I say that getting out of bed every morning last week was nothing short of traumatic. And yet somehow I managed to force myself up and out into the morning traffic.
I’m nothing short of heroic.
Every November I’m convinced that the eleventh month of the year is the worst – it’s the point in the year when winter really kicks in with its short dark days and rubbish weather.
November is so depressing that people are reduced to trying to write novels and grow moustaches in a bid to cheer themselves up.
November is not great, but then two months later January rolls into town and demonstrates how depressing a month can really be.
Oh January starts well enough with its “Happy New Years” and promises of a brand new start. But even though it’s the beginning of the calendar year, January isn’t really the beginning of the year at all. The school year starts in September and as far as I can tell that’s when most people in the UK actually think of the year as beginning. I know I work in education so I may be biased but I’m pretty sure the entire population gets conditioned to think of September as the beginning of the year in childhood and very few people actually shake it off.
So January is a false dawn.
But it’s worse than that.
It’s just as dark, just as cold and generally just as miserable as November but unlike November there’s no longer Christmas to look forward to.
Plus, the TV starts telling me that I need to lose weight.
Which is at least a bit ironic because if I do need to lose weight (and I do) then it’s partially TV’s fault. TV was more than complicit, with all its ‘must see’ festive programing over the holidays. It’s like TV spent two weeks encouraging me to sit passively in front of it stuffing my face with Pringles and now it’s getting all high and mighty and trying to shame me for that time we spent together.
Well I’m not buying it January.
TV is my friend – it doesn’t want to be showing all these stupid adverts about losing weight. TV is being manipulated by January.
Christmas may be over and I may be back at work and it may be cold and dark and generally grim but there’s absolutely no way I’m going to go on a diet and compound all of that misery.
I’m going to beat you January and I’m going to do it the only way I know how.
I’m going to drink beer, eat crisps and watch all the festive TV I recorded in December but didn’t have time to watch (cos I was watching stuff on the other channels).
I might possibly think about doing some exercise in February.
I’m making no promises though.