Apparently the 6th of January is the day in which most people break their New Year’s Resolutions. Well what do you expect? The 1st January comes one week after Christmas Day, a time in which we are Jabba the Hutt-ing to the MAX. And I have a theory as to why no one sticks to their ‘Eat Healthily’ resolution, despite the obvious reason that eating things is pleasurable. You can’t avoid it, it begins with C, and on Christmas day it’s piling up in front of you in a terrifying mountain… a delicious mountain. A delicious, stunning mountain.
It may be daunting at first. But in that delicate post-Christmas state, chocolate rules. I just Revel in it, all the time. Toblerone is always finished embarrassingly quickly, but I don’t make a big deal out of it. Every morning I reach for the Galaxy. Chocolate Orange segments have made me whole. I even got Roses – chocolate is so romantic, guys. But things got a bit… dark. I went to bed with some right Mingles (mostly one masquerading as an After Eight). I took Heroes to the bath; even the Fudges. And at Rocky bottom I actually spent money because I desperately needed that Boost. This is the ’80% cocoa’ side of chocolate consumption. Even all these puns are creepy.
Don’t judge me, mate. I’m on the right Tracker baby, I was Bournville this Milky Way. By the way, I’m fully aware that the pun is lazy. Do you see what January does to a person? I hate myself.
Expectant, overly optimistic, loathsome January. The supposed time for ‘renewal’ comes at the worst possible time of year. I didn’t even bother making any resolutions, cos I had my arm around my pile of chocolate at that time and I wasn’t going to hurt its feelings by declaring, right there in front of it, that I was going to replace it with fruit? These innocent, bite-sized blocks of love were plonked in front of me for free. That’s just rudeness. That’s just ingratitude.
The fact is, to lower the tone even further, that January is a stubborn turd of a month that not even edible presents can polish. Everything that makes the grim weather of December mildly tolerable, like twinkly lights, A Muppet Christmas Carol and the non-judged acceptance of a bucket of mulled wine, disappears as soon as the clock strikes midnight on the 31st. It’s still only light for about 8 hours a day, the wind is rudely sharp enough to shock your breasts…chocolate runs your life… everyone writes blog posts about how much they hate January…
Why would anyone want to make the equivalent of a ‘spring clean’ of their lifestyle, dead in the middle of Winter? If you live in Britain such as I, you probably won’t get a sniff of ‘spring freshness’ in the air for another sixty to eighty days. Trust me – March is the month; even its name is an active verb. And if you want to decide then to lose weight, you can tell yourself to MARCH TO IT! By July you’ll be bounding out in that Speedo, hitting Skeggy in style. What can January be turned into? I’ll tell you what – Vajanuary. The female equivalent of Movember. That’s all January has to offer, and it orders you to be ungroomed.
January is a bastard – it doesn’t give a crap about your health or attractiveness. It’s the number one month for S.A.D. sufferers and laughs in the face of everyone’s debt. Your only consolation is the chocolate harvest is sure to provide at least another week of plentiful, nutritious grazing. So just admit defeat; forget all the rejuvenation of self and all that. Order a pizza – something with a lot of meat and extra cheese – and eat it in bed with the electric blanket on full. And drizzle chocolate all over it. ALL over it. That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.