Happy New Year. Bonne année. Ein glückliches neues Jahr. Godt NytÅr. Hauoli Makahiki hou.
It is not because I am so behind on blogging that this post is a month late. It is because I have decided that from now on 1 February is my New Year.
My loathing of January is well documented but it has taken me 47 years to realize that it is futile to fight it.
Up to now I have embraced Jan with the best of them. New diet, new fitness regime, green smoothies, Facebook ban, pelvic floor exercises, gratitude diary – the whole self-help shebang.
I have even jumped on the Dry January wagon in the past.
And without exception I have spectacularly failed at everything every single year.
So on top of being cold, deprived of sunlight and vitamin D, and stony broke from Christmas; I have also been starving, muscle sore and guilt ridden for the large glass of Sauvignon I inhaled at 6.01pm on the first Friday of January.
2017 brought an epiphany. I DO NOT NEED TO DO ALL THAT!
It is only 31 days after all. The world will not end if I hibernate for 31 days.
So that is exactly what I have done. Since the last firework died over the Thames on New Year’s Eve I have officially been in January purdah.
Eat, sleep, work, watch catch up TV, repeat.
That has been my month.
I have not been running since 2016, my sugar and alcohol levels almost remain at their Christmas levels, I am fully up to date on all the TV series and box sets on my list and I haven’t had a whiff of anything remotely resembling a Kale smoothie.
And I have made it through to February.
I am emerging, five pounds heavier but triumphant, ready to tackle 2017 and all it throws at me.
Bring it on.