The month just past was the first January that I can EVER remember not being on a diet or 'healthy eating kick' (which is, of course, a euphemism for diet.) My Mum, like most British women, sees January as a kind of penance for the naughtiness of the festive season, and therefore puts herself (and by extension my Dad, and me when I lived at home) on a diet skinless chicken and soup for the first month of each year.
This year, with me having finally jumped off the dieting bandwagon and headed for the hills, I was able to enjoy the post Christmas period with more appropriate food for the bitter winter weather, and as such have found a lessening in the traditional January blues, a vast reduction in chocolate cravings and far less impact on the wallet from the January sales (although that might come from my increasing resistance to advertising and my newfound refusal to buy clothes that just don't fit).
I also nearly fainted on discovery that I can now fit comfortably into a pair of trousers that I couldn't get done up before Christmas, handily disproving any nagging demons in the back of my head urging me to run after that bandwagon, while I'm still nimble enough to manage it, because don't I know that this way leads to ugliness, not being able to fit through standard sized doorways and DEATH.
I'm sensibly holing up until the snow goes away and the days warm up nice; and when that happens I'm actually looking forward to emerging from my burrow and engaging in some nice, healthy swimming and walking to shake the sleep and aches out of my joints. Roll on springtime!