I used to HATE January...
As far as I'm concerned, January is the month in which we should all be hibernating, not shedding our Christmas jumpers and emerging from our tinsel-clad, twinkly nests to embrace the cold, dank days that lie before us.
For me, January starts to go wrong when I receive my January salary before Christmas. While I know that I mustn't, not under ANY circumstances, spend this money until 1st January, all my good intentions go out the window the moment I hear Noddy Holder proclaiming "IT's CHRISTMAS!!" One extra tin of biscuits quickly leads to several tubes of Pringles, a bottle of Rhubarb Gin, Urban Decay's latest eye shadow palette, and a pair of glittery ankle boots to wear on Christmas Eve. I haven't even mentioned my trip to the M&S Food Hall yet... (A note to my future self for December 2017 - do NOT, under any circumstances visit Marks and Spencer's food halls and, if you do, do NOT trade your shopping basket for a trolley halfway through your shop. This should set alarm bells ringing way before you reach the checkout). I consider my future self told.
So, yes. I always start the New Year being broke. I never learn.
Along with the lack of funds, I will have consumed my body weight in chocolate coins and drank enough Baileys to fill the local swimming pool. Hence, I always approach the New Year feeling rather sleepy and inert. This is not the time for me to be implementing a new exercise regime, or to hit the kale smoothies (be patient, little Nutribullet. I will be back for you in the Spring). Neither is it the time for me to be making knee-jerk New Year's resolutions that I already know I won't keep.
For me, it is far better to approach January in a state of quiet contemplation. A cup of Jamie Oliver's Hot Chocolate - and as I've already put my should out grating the chocolate for this, I feel that I deserve it - along with a slice of Christmas cake, and everything begins to look more civilised and cheery. Now isn't the time to go cold turkey and give up all the things you like, and neither is it the time to take up jogging.
For me, January has become a gestation period; it's a month when I am kind to myself while I consider the year ahead and what I might like to achieve.
I haven't always been kind to myself in January. It is very easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of New Year, New Start, but for me, this all changed when my mum got ill. She was admitted to hospital on 31st December 1999, and the January that followed was horrendous. A couple of highs, many lows and a hypoxic brain injury that eventually lead to her death all contributed to my loathing of the month.
Over the past seventeen years, rather than approaching January with dread, I have slowly learned to adapt. While I would still hibernate for the month if I could, instead I now look forward to being kind to myself, to making plans, and to recharging. Taking time out for myself in January helps me to prepare for the year ahead in a really positive way.
I will be posting survival tips for January throughout the month. #SurvivingJanuary
Survival Tip No. 1:
Do NOT, under any circumstances, GET ON THE SCALES, preferably until March - but at least until the end of the month. This is mandatory for your survival.
Sunday, 1 January 2017
Celebrity Deaths
Celebrity deaths - 2016...
2016 HAS been a terrible year for celebrity deaths.
It’s true that these deaths pale into insignificance when compared to the very real loss of a loved one, or when thinking about humanitarian atrocities, both past and present. However, these celebrity deaths DO matter.
David Bowie provided the soundtrack to my youth (although if I’m being really honest, I can also remember doing the “Buckle” dance to Status Quo’s “Rockin’ all over the World” when I was 13). Yes, I really am that old… You will always find me singing along tunelessly to “Careless Whisper” and “Last Christmas” when they are being played on the radio. The same goes for “Purple Rain” and “Raspberry Beret.”
I cried when I read Watership Down, I have a permanently soft spot for Terry Wogan’s twinkly eyes and bonhomie, and Victoria Wood’s deadpan delivery always raised a smile. I never wanted Princess Leia buns, but greatly admired Carrie Fisher’s honesty when she spoke about mental health. I will always be a little bit in love with Alan Rickman’s voice, and I lament that it has been irrevocably silenced.
It’s true that I didn’t know any of these people (or any of the celebrities not included above), but that’s not the point. I connected with them through their music and lyrics, through their words, and through their character portrayals. A world without books, films, music and television would be a very bleak world. If this wasn’t the case, why would anyone ever pick up a book, go to the cinema, play music or switch on the television? It doesn’t matter that we have never met these people, and that the songs and the books and the films and the dramas are not real. The emotions they arouse in us at the time ARE real. They give us “moments” to treasure. Maybe they instil a sense of belonging to a troubled teen, or they inspire hope, or raise aspirations, or just make us want to dance. It doesn’t matter what these moments do – they exist because of these artists who are no longer with us.
Talking of moments, I will never forget the cab ride home from the hospital on New Year’s Eve 1999, where my mother had just been admitted with the respiratory failure that would eventually lead to her death. First on the radio was The Beatles’ “Yesterday.” You know how it goes… “Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away…” and those lyrics really resonated with me. Following The Beatles came Prince’s “Party Like its 1999” when partying was the very last thing that I wanted to do. And yet, whenever I hear those songs now, I am taken right back to that cab ride home, and I don’t think that this is a bad thing. Those songs shared a moment with me, a connection.
Happy, sad, nostalgic – these connections matter.
In real terms, these celebrity deaths will not impact majorly on our everyday lives. We will go about our business, battling our losses and celebrating our victories. However, these artists all gave us moments to treasure, and regretting their passing makes us human, not vacuous.
2016 HAS been a terrible year for celebrity deaths.
It’s true that these deaths pale into insignificance when compared to the very real loss of a loved one, or when thinking about humanitarian atrocities, both past and present. However, these celebrity deaths DO matter.
David Bowie provided the soundtrack to my youth (although if I’m being really honest, I can also remember doing the “Buckle” dance to Status Quo’s “Rockin’ all over the World” when I was 13). Yes, I really am that old… You will always find me singing along tunelessly to “Careless Whisper” and “Last Christmas” when they are being played on the radio. The same goes for “Purple Rain” and “Raspberry Beret.”
I cried when I read Watership Down, I have a permanently soft spot for Terry Wogan’s twinkly eyes and bonhomie, and Victoria Wood’s deadpan delivery always raised a smile. I never wanted Princess Leia buns, but greatly admired Carrie Fisher’s honesty when she spoke about mental health. I will always be a little bit in love with Alan Rickman’s voice, and I lament that it has been irrevocably silenced.
It’s true that I didn’t know any of these people (or any of the celebrities not included above), but that’s not the point. I connected with them through their music and lyrics, through their words, and through their character portrayals. A world without books, films, music and television would be a very bleak world. If this wasn’t the case, why would anyone ever pick up a book, go to the cinema, play music or switch on the television? It doesn’t matter that we have never met these people, and that the songs and the books and the films and the dramas are not real. The emotions they arouse in us at the time ARE real. They give us “moments” to treasure. Maybe they instil a sense of belonging to a troubled teen, or they inspire hope, or raise aspirations, or just make us want to dance. It doesn’t matter what these moments do – they exist because of these artists who are no longer with us.
Talking of moments, I will never forget the cab ride home from the hospital on New Year’s Eve 1999, where my mother had just been admitted with the respiratory failure that would eventually lead to her death. First on the radio was The Beatles’ “Yesterday.” You know how it goes… “Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away…” and those lyrics really resonated with me. Following The Beatles came Prince’s “Party Like its 1999” when partying was the very last thing that I wanted to do. And yet, whenever I hear those songs now, I am taken right back to that cab ride home, and I don’t think that this is a bad thing. Those songs shared a moment with me, a connection.
Happy, sad, nostalgic – these connections matter.
In real terms, these celebrity deaths will not impact majorly on our everyday lives. We will go about our business, battling our losses and celebrating our victories. However, these artists all gave us moments to treasure, and regretting their passing makes us human, not vacuous.
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