As I sit here at my computer, sweating out my frost bite and sweeping flecks of dried skin that have fallen off my face onto the floor, I can’t help but think that January ain’t nothing but a big bag of dicks. (In this context the bag of dicks is a bad thing.)

First off, let’s talk about this weather… make your fucking mind up January. Between blistering winds that literally rot the overly-moisturised skin off your forehead and turn your hands into ashen disasters the likes of which only Dumbledore (after he put on Marvolo Gaunt’s cursed horcrux ring) could truly appreciate, and an office that could freeze vodka, my dark, depressed soul has literally turned into a breeze block of ice. Stepping outside is like pitching camp in the Yeti’s arsehole… sure it’s a novelty at first, but then you realise it’s actually a load of shit. Shit and cold. Cold and shit.

But, stoic, steadfast and unflappably British we don our wax jackets and cunter, oops sorry, I mean HUNTER wellies, and make for the cold, dark abyss that we have come to know as the world outside, only to find it’s practically turned Mediterranean. Pigeons are decked out in lurid Hawaiian shirts. The tube heating — which, by the way, is still cranked up to 4000 degrees hotter than the sun — is literally tanning anyone that goes within 2ft of the vent. And you feel the unmistakable cringe in your stomach when you strip down and realise your armpits match your unkempt vagina, and that a puff of trapped Christmas jumper lint has just dropped into your tea as you were reaching up for a bowl in the office kitchen cupboard.

Damn it January!

And as it all of that wasn’t enough, out come those arsehole friends who have somehow turned their pathetic lives around in the space between crying cocaine tears on your sparkly dress at that NYE party, and the 2nd of January, and now can’t stop bragging about their successes all over social media. I preferred you when you were pathetic. At least then we both had some common ground.

Meanwhile, sitting in a pile of wrapping paper and broken Christmas lights that I’ve yet to clear away, I emotionally flagellate myself for not having achieved everything I set out to achieve in 2016 by the third week of January… time’s ticking!!!

And even when from somewhere deep within, you find the strength to get up and get going, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, only to find the sack of fat around your middle has now sunk well beneath your pubic area and your thighs have actually begun to fuse together. I know big arses are all the rage right now, but i’m not sure a derrière with the turning circle of a double-decker bus is the epitome of sexy. I’d hit the gym, but the look of optimism on the faces of the fresh-2016-New-Year-new-you-starters, mingled with the smell of BO and steroid piss is, quite frankly, too much to handle right now.

But the worst thing, truly the worst thing, is that  you can’t even drink your misery away because you spent all your money on that sparkly dress and Christmas presents for people who will inevitably return the damn things like some woeful version of the circle of life where Simba is an underpaid retail assistant, and Uncle Scar is the CEO of Amazon. Except that Simba can never defeat Scar because he’s crippled by his taxes and student loan debts and drinking habit that makes his friends raise their eyebrows and mutter to one another whenever he goes to the bathroom. What? Did that even make any sense… course not, because, January.

January is a month of checking your bank balance and not only finding it wanting, but DEMANDING fees because you are so far withdrawn that orphan children somewhere in Africa are trying to raise money to help you make it to the weekend. Just £50 a week will help Louise buy several pints of cider and a Burger King Whopper meal so she doesn’t throw up on the tube to work the next day.

January is a farce. And one I feel best lived out from the sanctity of my duvet. So unless you have booze, Burger King or a compliment about my big ass, please kindly leave me be. Or join me and we can cry together!