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Why I love January after all that tinsel and those amateur drunks

The papers are full of new dates for the most depressing day of the year, all of them falling in January.

What rot. I too used to loathe January. But I am clear now that the most miserable day of the year is Christmas Eve. The lonely legions agree.

As for New Year, despite being a Scot, I've never liked that: all these amateur drunks. And that stupid expression, Hogmanay. That's not a word. It's an atrocity with three syllables.

Well, now thank Thor, it's over.

January is here and we can return to normality, free of obligation and family, these twin scourges of the free man and bird. It's time to embrace the reassuring and reliable greyness, to eat frugally and exercise conscientiously, to praise oneself in fulsome terms: "I saw out the ghastly month of December. I weathered the storm of tinsel and schmaltz. I will survive." Live long and prosper, folks.