Top Five: Reasons why January is gash
It’s true, Christmas is finally over. The naked, shedding trees have been slung shivering to the kerb, the fairy has been packed up in the loft to once again rub shoulders with the old rocking horse and rusty, dusty exercise bike and even the Bountys have been eaten from the celebrations tin. The glitter has faded from the hootenanny of the 31st and January has reared up at us like a velociraptor with PMT. It’s not the greatest month in the world let’s be honest. Here’s the top five reasons why.
1. Dry January
Or as I like to affectionately call it, Dry BOREuary. or Dry SMUGuary. Cor, pipe down and Yawn Off you gin-martyrs. If I have to listen to one more conversation about how you’re “really feeling the benefits” or “how great my skin looks” I will bore my own eyes out with a cocktail umbrella. For GODS SAKE if there’s one month that you need to drink, IT’S JANUARY because it’s so bleak and grey. If anything, we should call it “Make it a Double January”. That should definitely be a thing.
Similarly, if there’s one month you need comfort food, IT’S JANUARY. It’s fucking COLD outside son, I wanna munch down on a plate of mashed potato, not nibble on a kale chip. Following “Make it a Double January” I think we should have “Feed Me February.”
The February theme song:
YEAHyeeahyeahyeahyeah resolutions were tossed about re: getting fit. But you look like a fool, ye who just pull on your old ratty 10 year old converse and a battered old t-shirt. Everyone knows that these days, running has been totally fetishised and you can’t really do it unless you have fluro nikes which are so great and supportive they pretty much act like a pedestrian hovercraft, sweaty-betty-stella-mcartney leggings which have been woven out of the sweat of retired Olympic athletes, an app to provide a training programme catered just for you, a bumbag full of weird neon gel drinks that look like you should feed them to a toddler who’s about to go to a rave, a justgiving page, a blog to share your deepest fitness delights and one of those wristbands which digitally tracks your heart-rate/sweat/breathing/sperm count. Enough. Let’s just all agree to have more sex to keep fit shall we?
4. The empty bank balance
Every time I check my current funds, my bank account looks me judgmentally in the eye, sighs and says, “Dude, you can’t like, keep doing this.” Sometimes when I press ‘Check Balance’ at a cash machine, instead of the numbers flashing up on-screen, there’s just a picture of tumbleweed and the sound of a chilled wind blowing.
Don’t even get me started on having to file my tax return.
TAX IS ALWAYS TAXING. YOU LIED TO ME MOIRA STEWART, YOU LIED TO ME WITH YOUR SOOTHING DULCET VELVET TONES *drowns in piles of unlabelled receipts frantically stabbing at the HMRC Online login page in a bid to remember username and password”
5. Easter Eggs
“Hello, here is a massive wound caused by being suddenly bereft of the joy that was Christmas. Please, Cadburys, feel free to pour loads of CHOCOLATEY SALT IN IT.” Get real you cocoa wankers.
I’m gonna keep my head down (wheyyyy) armed with a big bottle of Gordon’s finest and come up for air once January has sodded well and truly off. KEEP YOUR SPIRITS SOARING MY CHUMLINGS, we’ll reconvene come February (perchance at this marvy Valentines event….seamless).
LUSH YA MY HONS xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx