It is dark, dank and rain spattered outside. January is here with all its gloom and unspoken chastisement for finishing a huge box of Thorntons and being compelled to finish all the mince pies currently reaching their suspiciously short ‘use by’ date.
|Christmas 2014 – where did it go?|
The school run (I walk, the kids run) is an opportunity to study the various shades of grey the sky can muster up and to marvel at the chocolate brown muddiness of the local brook, swollen with heavy rainfall.
Is there anything sadder than passing houses which were previously aglow with fairy lights and are now shrouded in darkness?
Some poor souls haven’t even taken their Christmas trees down – generally the people who put their trees up as soon as the last firework has gone off at 1 am on November 6th and annoyed all the neighbourhood dogs.
I am really missing the Christmas tree and the twinkly glow of the fairy lights, the heavenly sound of Carols from Kings and candlelight in every room downstairs.
It’s no wonder we’re all watching Broadchurch to cheer ourselves up a bit and considering blowing the budget on a trip to Barbados.
Incidentally, why do holiday companies this year think it’s hilarious to make their slogans sound like swearing? Will your holiday be totally ‘beachin’?’ Is your holiday ‘booking’ fabulous?
Because we all love to sit in Thomas Cooks swearing like troopers, don’t we? Is that the level of sophistication the Brit abroad is considered to have? On second thoughts, it’s probably best if we don’t answer that one. I’m not even sure if you can still sit in Thomas Cooks.
Some of us have become “Dry Athletes”, some are eschewing sugar and some are relying on hypnosis to make eating chocolate seems as appealing as a week trying to sort out Tesco’s accounting problems.
We can take comfort in the fact that there are a group of highly dysfunctional people, troubled and entertaining to various degrees who think nothing of baring their innermost souls for all to comment and tsk tsk about.
No, I’m not talking about Prime Minister’s Question Time but that paeon to quality television that is Celebrity Big Brother.
In the name of psychological research (cough), I may have to watch the launch night programme I accidentally recorded. Whilst drinking up my Disaronno Amaretto before it goes off.