Happy blue year... why we all need a boost in January
THERE are few sights sadder at this time of year than a Christmas tree l eaning uncertainly against a wheelie bin. We may only be five days into the New Year but we’re already deep into the three Rs of the post-Christmas apocalypse: recycling, regret and resolutions.
On my way to the bottle bank with enough glass to re-pane a conservatory, it occurred to me that we take down Christmas decorations and lights just when we need them the most, because January is a wretched, long, non-alcoholic-drink of a month. It’s cold and dark and wet. It’s the time of year when people are most likely to be fired, especially if you’re an elf.
You’re so tired and hungover that the New Year episode of Sherlock feels like some sort of back-toschool maths test. The credit card bills are in, you’re probably broke and the sofa has adopted an alarming, come-hither countenance.
To lighten up the dim misery, I first-footed both Ikea and B&Q; I now have enough candles and tealights for a séance. However, my fridge is still spiked for Christmas, with remnants of marzipan, ham, nuts and roast potatoes.
There is no month of the year in which you will have a greater desire to stay at home to finish off a wheel of stilton and eat mincemeat straight from the jar – yet when we are at our most irresolute, we’re being guilt-tripped by selfimproving resolutions.
Most people resolve to lose weight or spend time with their family. Or to spend more time telling their family to lose weight. Or resolve to sort out all the tensions of a family Christmas by getting a nice clear-the-air divorce.
One 99-year- old man has just split from his 96-year- old wife, which must make them the world’s oldest divorced couple. That’s brave, but it also must be very weird to have a lawyer fighting for your kids to get custody of you.
My sister lives in New Zealand, where they barely notice Christmas in the middle of their hectic schedule of beach trips, barbecues and buying more sunscreen. I don’t know how they cope in their winter of June/July, when the only thing they have to look forward to is Waitangi Day.
Now is not the time to raise the price of train travel or tell us to cut down on the booze for at least two days a week. So here is my manifesto for January: layer up and go out to see friends with dogs. Feed them both stilton. Finish all the DVD box sets. Clean out the cupboards and finally eBay those 20 Braveheart Tshirts that I hoped might go up in value after September 2014.
And reflect that the Jewish faith may have it right by making resolutions in September after the summer holidays, when you’ve been walking through long evenings and eaten lots of salad. Self-improvement, like a mature blue cheese, is something that can’t be rushed.