is the Monday of the year.
Time to reset, grit your teeth and start all over again. We
endure it, in all it’s sullen infamy. It is a bleak
month, dreich and doleful, a time when dark reflections cause
some to seek an ultimate, sorry escape. It would seem to have
little to commend it
However, I want to stick up for January. It may be the perfect
Scottish month in that it embraces and echoes the worst and
the best of us.
It separates us from our neighbours in England, whose preferred
point of fuss is Christmas day, not Hogmanay (and the four
days after it). England is back in the saddle by the second
of January, while most of us are stumbling around trying to
remember where we left the horse.
In early January, we face the recovery from our festive excess.
By mid-January, we are still all broke, from our festive excess.
Throughout the month, busted wallets and bad weather will
cage us. But, by the end of the month, we will assure each
other that this wasn’t the worst January we’ve
ever had. I knew it’s father, we will say. We begin
to rise again.
We’ll have made our resolutions - in good intent - only
to discard them when the skies cleared and our senses returned.
That’s fine. No-one really deludes themselves about
these resolutions: it is just that January is probably not
the best time to make them – given how difficult it
is to see clearly through the rain and the fog and the blizzard
of credit card bills. And anyway, it doesn’t really
matter that such resolve crumbles – what counts is that
we feel bold enough to announce it in the first place. January
makes us want to be better people.