There is another slightly awkward period now, between Christmas and New Year. One series of wildly unbridled celebrations is over and the next is yet to begin. In between, we have a few days off work, during which we survey the ruins of the Christmas festivities scattered around our living rooms and ask ourselves where we go from here.
The days have slipped by very quickly. Given all the time I had on my hands, there is little to show for it: perhaps the fridge is a little tidier than when it was tightly crammed from top to bottom with turkey only a few days ago, but I've not made any progress with all the various household tasks I had planned to see to over the holidays. You manage to persuade yourself that it's better to take some time out and relax properly, so that when you get back to work next week you will feel rejuvenated and literally bubbling with enthusiasm. But you suspect that the bubbles will pop fairly quickly, and you will find yourself counting down the days to the next holiday.
I should make some resolutions before the old year shuffles grumpily out the door. I'm never very good at that sort of thing: thinking up original and life-enhancing resolutions, and having the perseverance to maintain them for more than a few hours. It's not as if there were nothing worth improving in my life: if anything, there are so many things needing fixing that it rather deflates you to go through them all and prioritise which should be done first. Perhaps the trick is to not be too ambitious. Finishing off the Christmas pudding might be a good place to start.
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