Happy bloody new year! I love the idea of a new year. A fresh start, a blank canvas. However, I can't help but feel like a burst balloon about four seconds after the cheek-kissing and 'happy new-year-ing' on the bells has ended.
January is the worst month because -
- Christmas (which I start preparing for and getting excited about at the beginning of October) is over. You've opened your presents and watched the Royle family and you have to wait a whole 350-something days to do it all again.
- You're properly skint as most of you got paid either before Christmas or before NYE and spunked it all away on booze and presents and sparkly outfits.
- Everyone else on the planet is on a health kick so you have to live like a disgusting alcoholic slob alone - this is very distressing.
- It's cold and snow has no resonance now that you're not feeling festive.
- The next holiday to look forward to is Valentines day which strikes fear into the heart of every woman who knows she's going to have to go to Ann Summers and purchase some piece of bright red cheese cloth and look like a joint of pork while smiling, pretending it's all ok, and hoping that with enough champagne and shit chocolates she'll have forgotten all about the ordeal by morning.
- That is unless you count Burns Night (and if you do please just fuck right off) which is essentially just eating dog food and praising a poet, who if you knew him, you'd call an utter twat and probably hate.
