Recently, a friend said to me how much he hated February. People often admit to this and I have never really understood why, so, without further ado, I would like to go on here to officially declare that I REALLY QUITE LIKE FEBRUARY.
After the big build-up and broo-ha-ha over Christmas and New Year, January is the month I hate the most. Long and bleak, with far too many weeks until pay day, there is nothing to commend it, in my view.
First, we have the lingering embarrassment of the office Christmas party shenanigans to try to blot out (your colleagues will keep reminding you, though. Like, forever. You’ll have to resign).
Then there are the shops: full of dreary leftover festive tat. Your more – er – “careful” friends will be crowing over their reduced-price bargains, to be stowed away until December rolls round again. It never fails to irritate you.
Oh yes, and on January 1st, the shelves will be instantly filled with crème eggs and Valentine cards because, let’s face it, with such a long and dreary month to face head-on and somehow plough through, you’re going to need all the help you can get.
The garden centres are places of barren despair. You can’t do much in the garden in any case: the lawn is more mud than grass, the borders are looking very sorry for themselves and it’s far too dank and cold to spend any useful time out there, so you press your nose against the window pane and dream of perennials to come…
So why not just embrace February? You know it makes sense. It’s the shortest month of the year, the evenings are starting to get noticeably lighter, the shops are perking up again, ditto the garden centres and you’re one month closer to Spring. Come on, what’s not to love?
If you need any further encouragement, guess which month contains the most depressing day of the year (it’s official)? That’s right: January. I rest my case.