Bye Bye, Damp January
I don’t know why it’s such a shock, we know it’s going to happen every year, but we’ve finally scratched off day 547 of January 2025; so now it’s all down hill until Christmas.
We all know January’s going to be fairly shit for a myriad of reasons. The enormous gaping chasm between December and January paydays; the drug like come down from the excesses of a debauched festive season; the weather (speaking from a UK perspective here, you guys in Perth Australia* can shut up about your 40 degree heat); the expectation that you’re actually meant to start “circling back” on all those work emails that you diligently filed in December under “things to do after the holidays”; and watching new years resolutions topple like domino’s in rapid succession before the end of the first week of the month. This January has been harder than most for me personally - having endured many long days and sleepless nights as I worked towards my company being acquired. So of course, the best way to help get us through this hellish landscape is to commit to that worthy - and healthy - goal of having a “dry January”.

To be honest, for several years I’ve embraced this concept - feeling overly gluttonous and sluggish from an indulgent December, and there’s been some years where I’ve pushed through to the end of February, feeling all virtuous with a healthier bank balance and glowing skin thanking me for replacing the gin with copious amounts of water.
And if I’m being honest, the older I’m getting, the easier I’m finding it to abstain from a regular alcoholic drink. I value a good nights sleep too much - and the ability to get up at the weekend, at a reasonable time, to be able to achieve a long list of “to-do’s” without feeling like my heads about to explode and the only solution is to eat my body weight in cheesy wotsits, is always going to be a positive.
But sometimes, the whole “completely cold turkey” thing is just impossible. No, scratch that, nothing is impossible (well, apart from Tottenham managing to win a game this season apparently). No, my will power is at the precarious level known as “fuck it”, where I value the ability to wind down and massage my mental health through a delectable glass of pinot noir, more than I value the kudos of going alcohol free for 31 days.
I did start off strong, with New Year being celebrated in bed at 11.50pm with a cup of herbal tea (it’s probably psychosomatic, but the Twinnings sleepy tea range work like a dream - pun intended - at sending me to sleep). Obviously 4 short days later, after a glorious meal at Hazels in St Albans (French inspired tapas wine bar with live DJ - honestly can’t recommend it enough), where a bottle of wine was shared and two night caps enjoyed shortly after at No Nuisance cocktail bar, the dream ended. I found myself lying in the middle of a snow covered road on a quiet side street at midnight, having slipped over in my inebriated state (I honestly think it had more to do with ill advised footwear and icy roads though), but the OH and I were in such fits of laughter, neither of us really cared.
So nursing a sore knee (and back and neck and arse and elbow) the following day, and with stern lectures from my PT ringing in my ears, I abstained…. for another two weeks. Dry January had definitely became “damp” January. But you see, fat desperately needed to be chewed with my good friend**; disastrous days in the office dissected and emotional outpourings due to loss and imminent change had to be shared. Oh, and ranting. Lots of ranting. Thankfully, The Verulam was packed with tables already reserved, so what could have been an epic drinking session was avoided.
But only two mistakes in one month. That’s good right? And definitely only damp rather than sopping wet. Feeling fairly virtuous, I made my way into the last week of the month. At least, I think it was the last week - January seemed to have gone on for about 832 years at that stage, so who knew how close I was to the finishing line really.
And like a small child whose shoe laces come undone as they stumble towards the winners tape at an egg and spoon race, I crashed into the 30th January with a style and aplomb that I really have no business having. I blame the departure of several colleagues at the same time from the business - and the fact they decided to hold their leaving party at a drinking establishment a mere 10 minute walk from my house. Oh, and the free bar…. That probably didn’t help. At least I had the good sense to stick to one type of drink the entire night. And snaffle a couple of sausage rolls and doughnuts from the buffet table at some ungodly hour. What a combination. Around 5 hours of socialising, commiserating, celebrating and VERY loudly gossiping later, I fell into bed proclaiming that I didn’t need any water (I really did), I hadn’t drunk that much (I really had), and that of course I’d eaten enough (I really hadn’t). Six short hours later, I awoke realising not only had my damp January now crashed and burned, but that I had a breakfast meeting in an hour, a full day of work ahead of me and the regrets of someone who couldn’t be sure that they hadn’t said something outrageous to someone important the night before….
So as I quietly sip on my Pepsi Max on the second day of February, reflected on my achievements, I mean my failures of the month of January, I wonder again why we try to impose these ludicrous fun-sucking resolutions on ourselves at a time of year when, to be frank, over indulgence and behaving badly may be the only thing that drags us through the chaos - and coldness - of quite obviously the worst month of the year***.
*you know who you are
** urgh, hate that expression
*** contemplating whether I need to apologise to those who have birthdays/celebrations in January…… Ummmm, nope - I said what I said
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