New Year, and no beer?!

So, two weeks in. How are you all doing? All skinny, sober and speaking Swahili? No…? Shocker!

New year, new possibilities, new start. Blah blah blah. I, for one, can't be arsed. Every year we labour under the misconception that the New Year has the mystical properties required to transform our lives beyond recognition. I suppose our brains are so clogged with Christmas cake, cheese and chocolate that lard-induced hallucinations are not surprising really.

What is surprising is the timing of it all. Choosing, for example, to give up booze in January of all months is utterly ridiculous (and, ironically enough, is generally a declaration made whilst chugging New Year’s eve bubbles like they’re going out of fashion).

If we can veer into a little corporate twaddle momentarily (sorry, it’ll be over in a jiffy and you won’t feel a thing) let’s have a quick check if this is a SMART objective:

Specific – yes, in it’s stupidity

Measurable – only with tears of anguish

Achievable – not on your nelly

Realistic – see above

Timely – it’s January for feck’s sake!

January. The least popular kid in the playground, the Aunt that nobody likes, the traffic warden of the calendar year. Gyms are overflowing, pubs are deserted and people on diets are dull at best, frightening at worst (‘DON’T LET ME HAVE CHOCOLATE!’ they scream at you, a manic, stricken look in their hollow, joyless eyes). Why, oh why, would we choose to take away all the things that could help take the edge of the cold dark days?

The term is HAPPY New Year.
Don't take away the beer...

If you’re going to make a New Year’s resolution, and avoid unpleasant self-flagellation when it all goes to pot, keep it simple. The only resolution I have ever managed to keep was to floss every day. One small step for a small ginger, one giant leap in avoiding gingivitis. I have long since given up telling myself I will lose two stone in January, repairing my liver while I’m at it. It will never happen.

But if you’re made of sterner stuff than me and you’re sticking with the Swahili lessons, good on you. Here’s a useful little phrase to help you along…

I’d like a cold beer please: Tafadhali nataka bia pombe baridi.

Now doesn't that look lovely...?

That Monday feeling

It’s fairly safe to say we all hate Mondays. They are the very definition of a killjoy; they hang around with the other banes of our lives (work, chores and the alarm clock), and they invite despair, tears and general gnashing of teeth to their miserable party every week.

But maybe we can’t tar all Mondays with the same brush. Bank holiday Mondays, for instance – we love those delightful little cherubs. And what about those Mondays when you’re on holiday and everyone else is at work? They’re even better, because you can have a little cackle at the thought of other people dragging themselves out of bed at ungodly o’clock and struggling through traffic to sit in endless meetings as you lie in bed / on the beach / under the bar. Sadistic, yes, but you know you do it.

Occasionally Mondays also look the other way and allow a little joy to crash the party. Like today; a Monday that brought with it sunshine AND a cheque from the taxman. Yes – I said from! They also give tax back. Deep joy on a Monday people. And it goes to show that, not only are some Mondays good, some employees of HM Revenue & Customs are not evil. Who would’ve thought it?!

This happy little occurrence reminded me of another renegade I came across in the past few months; a nice traffic warden. No joke. I was let off a ticket, and, what’s more, a ticket I totally deserved. I parked up, right by a pay-and-display machine, but discovered I had no change. ‘Feck it’ I thought, ‘I’ll only be a few minutes’.

Timekeeping is not one of my strong points and I was a few minutes longer than a few minutes, and as I rounded the corner to get back to the car there he was, ticket touter of doom at the ready. My heart sank and I rushed up, garbling apologies and excuses. He raised one eyebrow, told me I was ‘riskin’ it for a biscuit’ (eh?) and put the malevolent machine away.

My shock and joy led to a stream of gratitude (I think I told him I loved him at one point…) and when I exclaimed that ‘I didn’t know nice traffic wardens existed!’ (I never know when to shut up) he simply smiled and said ‘there are a few of us’ and headed off down the street.

Mondays, taxmen and traffic wardens – they’re not all bad. Shocking but true.