As we roll into the 3rd week of January I am surrounded by the righteous and the sober.
It appears, without exception that everyone I know has given up something for the month of January and in some cases way beyond. Alcohol, sugar in all its forms, carbohydrates and dairy appear to the be the top choices of abstemiousness
I’m the sole survivor to emerge from this sea of self-denial, lounging on the island of indulgence (my sofa) with a drink in one hand and chocolate in the other bravely defying any attempt at weight loss. (Appreciate that I have overdone the alliterations, but I couldn’t let go of the shipwreck metaphor – apologies)
On the run-up to Christmas you can accept short days and cold dark nights with the promise of pressies, parties and decorations that twinkle and shine but afterwards, what then? January is usually a pretty bleak month and this year is no different, omnipresent grey; from the sky about 10 feet above to the muddy ground below there is little to no colour around, a monochromatic mood depressor. Even the dogs are feeling it, refusing to go for a walk, feigning sleep or hiding under the dining room table when I get their leads out.
However, the supermarkets provide some light relief to combat my January blues.
Being a woman of thrift and careful spending I find it impossible to walk past the yellow sticker shelves – quick sale, still fresh – without rummaging through for a bargain or two and January makes for a happy hunting ground.
Yesterday I picked up a bottle of sticky after dinner booze, 3 boxes of mince pies and five individual Christmas puds for less than a tenner. Combine this with the pint of double cream and two tubs of Quality Street (is it just me or did they used to be so much bigger?) three days ago and it’s a party for one! On opening the larder, husband remarked that it is actually a diabetic coma for one and I should start limiting my sugar/fat intake as he grazed on some saintly pumpkin seeds, look smug and admittedly quite a bit thinner than the start of the month.
I have made a deal with him, I will cut back on the indulgences when the sun starts shining again, although there is a niggling thought at the back of my head that when that time comes the fire brigade may need to crane me out the house.
Hurry up Spring, I can’t afford a mobility scooter.