Me and January have never been friends. 2015 hasn't healed our rift as of yet. It's not January; it's me. I saunter out of Christmas-wielding December, full of family warmth and a tummy full of turkey, and walk smack bang into tenebrous January. With its frost, and darkness, and no celebrations - bar the puffery of the first day which is actually all over by the time we wake up on the first day - and back to work, and slow trudge to normality. January... bah humbug.
I perused for a while - with many - of hopes, dreams and aspirations for the new year. And yes, I did for a while fancy I could trip the light fantastic and through unopened daisies straight into February's loving arms.
Then work got miserable - why oh why can't people just be civil and respectful (even when you are the new girl in town)? Then I shivered every morning in my ailing Mini Cooper which eventually shuddered itself to a halt, in the dark, on the school, and was then towed away into the night only to reappear with an almighty price tag for its medicine. Then we shivered for a bunch of days when our boiler decided it'd had had enough and went on strike; we have since discovered that this protest may not end until March! March!
So just when I thought January had gotten the best of me and well and truly pounded me into the frozen ground; I found warmth in the new round of January dramas. Oh yes, there is nothing better than curling up on my favourite chair, with some good red stuff, and a stack of dramas to catch up on. Scandal, The Good Wife, Stella, Broadchurch, Call the Midwife, The Musketeers, Death in Paradise, Silent Witness, Last Tango in Halifax, Holby City.
Now January...that's what I'm talking about. Cheers!
This post is linked up with #post40bloggers #writing prompt28:how did the first month of the year treat you?