I think we all agree – don’t we? – that we love January. It’s February that’s the monster. And March. Oh my god March, you are cruel, and almost always giving us snow in a very unfestive and unhelpful way.
By April we can see a budding leaf, we can sniff spring in the air and the clocks will have gone forward: there is hope.
But January – we all know that January is pretty much the month
equivalent of a long, not-so-busy Sunday morning. Not Sunday afternoon where you get antsy about work on Monday and “Where are the kids’ book bags?” and “Oh my god, I’ve just seen that I’ve written ‘out’ in my diary on Monday night but not when or with whom”.
No, Sunday afternoon is terrible. But Sunday morning, when there’s no one coming for lunch and nothing much to do except sit about... January is like that, for a whole month.
Personally, I don’t bother with a health kick in the new year, although I know it’s popular. I find it difficult to over-eat or drink too much in December because I get such acute, nameless anxiety about not getting too drunk at Christmas parties and not eating all the sugar (as I get older I’m starting to get really worried about my teeth).
I also find that December is such a scramble that it’s hard to relax fully into drinking and eating with any determination. What with
deadlines all brought forward by two weeks so that the entire country can relax from 24 December until 2 January, Christmas Eve has suddenly taken on a slightly apocalyptic air.
It’s become more than just the end of term – it feels like the end of the world! So much so that I feel I need to be sober and not so busy grabbing mince pies with both hands that I can’t fend off the metaphorical zombies at the gate.
Photographer: Jonty Davies / Stylist: Chloe Forde / Make-up: Karina Constantine
Hair stylist: Bjorn Krischker / Manicurist: Emma Welsh