- People who don’t drink are lovely, interesting, funny people I enjoy being around. People who don’t drink for a bit are as dull as hell and make me want to kill. If you can cut back without advertising every small sacrifice, then good for you. If on the other hand you have to analyse how much your life has changed and how much stronger/superior you are may I suggest try being pregnant where you’re not allowed to do any-goddam-thing for nearly a year and even then you can’t go out because you have leaking nipples a broken fanny and oh yeah, a baby. Stop whining and have a sodding drink, or not, but seriously stop whining.
- January is basically the worst month to be on Facebook. If it’s not Dryanuary updates, it’s cringingly awful inspirational quotes. Thankfully it seems to be tailing off now, but for the first week of the new year looking at my timeline was like having Yoga shove page upon page of The Little Book of Calm into every orifice until I exploded in a shower of minions. I don’t even get me started on Bill, that passive aggressive little bitch.
- Then there’s the weather. Thanks to the ‘White Christmas’ mythology, we all delude ourselves into thinking that by the New Year, that’s the season pretty much wrapped up and we can get on with the new year, spring, fresh starts, new shoots and all that- BUT NO. The fact is we are only just hitting the middle of deepest winter, and now it’s not the holidays anymore, we actually have to get shit done. Most of winter weather isn’t even fun, pretty snow, it’s miserable grey rain, and endless mud. Climate change isn’t helping either, chucking in the odd week of oddly high temperatures to fool you into putting the electric blanket away, before another freeze. And I can’t complain (though I’m clearly having a good go), it’s not as if I’ve been affected by the floods.
- The news hasn’t helped either. It’s a bloody miracle Lemmy lasted this long, but Bowie, and Rickman? Not helped by the fact that everywhere you look you see Donald Trump’s hate-spiting red face, reminding us that the world ratio of top blokes to dickheads is slipping in the wrong direction.
- The worst thing about January is that I should love it. My birthday and wedding anniversary are both in the middle, but nobody is in the mood to celebrate anything. After the excesses of Christmas we’re all feeling too skint, fat, sober and cold. January is the hangover of the year, the post coital shiver of shame, the gunge at the bottom of the bin. The best thing I can say about January is at least it’s not February.