Being a January baby is the pits, and next year will be even worse...

I’M thinking of starting up a little group for all the people who have a birthday in the month of January.

We could throw soirees, drink nice wine and bitch about the misfortune of being born into the crappiest month of the year.

For those of you born in the glorious summer months, let me tell you being a January baby is the pits. Half the time people forget your birthday altogether and when they do remember they usually hand you a present (the dregs of the sales) wrapped in leftover Christmas paper.

I always get into a huff on my birthday because I anticipate in advance how rubbish it’s going to be.

This year wasn’t that bad to be fair. I got a nice present but spent most of the day on my own as Himself was in work and the kids were out with friends. When they did return home, they had forgotten to get me a cake so I threw a bit of a hissy fit and drank an entire bottle of cheap prosecco on my own.

‘I don’t understand why you get into such a state over your birthday,’ says Himself. Well that’s easy for him to say. He was born in May. Everybody wants to celebrate in May. He also has a wonderful wife who throws lavish parties for him to mark all his big birthdays.

Next year is a significant one for both of us. I won’t tell you how old I will be because I can’t bring myself to say it out loud.

I’ve already booked the venue for his, hired the DJ and sorted the caterers.

Suddenly he suggests we have a joint birthday party.

‘I’m not feckin saying I’m... (insert certain age) six months before I actually am. No way!’ I tell him. Even the thought of getting loads of presents isn’t enough to make me do that.

‘Well we’ll have one for you in January then!’ he announces. ‘Will WE? Does that mean you’re going to organise it?’ I ask. He nods enthusiastically. ‘Yeah sure there’s nothing to it – a few balloons, a bit of music, cocktail sausages and plenty of drink.’

Sounds heavenly! Thank God he doesn’t fancy a career in event management. ‘No!’ I am emphatic. ‘No one wants to go to a party on January 4th, Everyone will be on the dry. It will be awful!’ My voice is reaching fever pitch at this stage.

‘Ah sure we’ll see!’ he smirks, winking at me. Part of me is filled with fear that he’ll try and organise a surprise one. But realistically I know that won’t happen because it’s too much like hard work.

But on the off chance you get an invite next December to attend a party being thrown for me. DO NOT ATTEND.

I will be hiding under a duvet somewhere drinking cheap prosecco!

NEXT YEAR IS A SIGNIFICANT ONE FOR BOTH OF US. I WON’T TELL YOU HOW OLD I WILL BE BECAUSE I CAN’T BRING MYSELF TO SAY IT OUT LOUD