January. 06.05. Dank, dismal. ‘Nuff said. Worse – February’s next, oh dear.

Frankly, it’s already been a long month. It’s only Monday and I’m wondering how the hell I’m going to make it to gin o’clock on Friday? 06.11, and I manage to peel myself from under the cosy if ever so slightly sweaty duvet. It was a cold night, so we hunkered with one too many layers. Move woman – routine awaits.

January is a busy month for us. No dry January in this household. Too many birthdays to be marked with (mostly faked) enthusiasm. The husband’s (hereafter known as The Egg due to his disconcertingly shiny, follicly challenged pate) was one such – and a bit of a special birthday too. Yes it was a Big One, and I saw 4am before I crept under aforementioned duvet with dark and dirty beats still thumping directly beneath my bed (there was a floor between us but it didn’t sound like it) and the balls of my feet throbbing with an intensity I hadn’t experienced since my clubbing days back in the 90s. Since then I’ve viewed heels as the Devil’s own work but I managed to shoehorn a pair on for The Egg’s Big Night. I silently cursed him as I peeled them from my feet at 04.06am with visible blood.

Only three hours later and rudely awake by 7.30, I was up in order to turf the oldest Boy Wretch off to Sunday morning rugby training. My job, as it was The Egg’s birthday. Yes, of course! Grimace.

It’s rugby training every Sunday morning by the way, regardless of what happened the night before. Blearily stirring his porridge after a wild night of dancing, drinking and shouting over ridiculously immense music and I couldn’t even look at the devastation that was the kitchen. Best not – best to just, you know, peer through half shut eyes and pretend it hadn’t happened. My beloved but departed mother’s best tip to me was to simply focus on the immediate issue, whether it be your sparse lashes as you attempt to draw some eyes onto your puffy little face, or a scurvy, skanky, obscenely filthy post-party kitchen. Never, ever look at the wrinkles around the eyes or survey the entire scene before you – it’s unnecessary and can only end in disappointment. She was right of course. She was always right.

But – back to Monday.  Weekend jollities done, kitchen roughly back in shape – (apart from a deep and perfectly formed ‘C’ shaped gouge to the back door frame – what the actual hell? – and several exquisitely precise, circular red wine stains that no amount of ‘specialist granite and marble spray that removes even the toughest stains’ is bloody well going to have any impact on!) and – here we are.

I gaze ruefully in the early morning gloom at the puffy face and toxic skin reflecting back at me. I am so over celebrating…..

‘Post New Year Blues’ Part Two coming soon…