There’s one good thing about January after all

IMAGINE December without twinkly lights, fireside pints, never-ending tubs of chocolates and biscuits at work, oodles of cheese in the fridge at home, parties and pressies. That’s basically January isn’t it?

The weather’s just as bad, but it’s no longer okay to drink red wine with every meal. Your friends and family are still there, but none of them want to see you again for at least four weeks.

I crack on leaving work, and text a friend: “Would you like to ruin dry January with me?” Silence.

“Fancy just sitting there and watching me drink then?” Still silence.

And so, forced to entertain myself, I stroll into central London — and since there is nothing else to do I look in the shops.

I hate shopping. It’s tedious, unfulfilling and makes me feel awful about myself, but I guess so does drinking myself to death so I give it a go. After about 20 minutes I decide all fashion is revolting and there is no way anyone is going to sell me the 1990s again because I’ve lived that nightmare.

But then I find a shop I love that is the realisation of my dad’s favourite phrase about me (“champagne taste, lemonade pockets”). Inside is everything I lusted over but denied myself before Christmas — but cheaper.

I try on a sheer polka dot dress, a powder blue silk shirt with a weird ruffle that just works and a very cute leopard print skirt which is just the right amount slutty. I buy them all.

When I get home I go online and search for more clothes I couldn’t afford a month ago but totally deserve and buy them all too. January made me do it.