So January’s nearly over. That’s not wind blowing over bins, Monroe-ing skirts and removing toupees across the city, it’s the collective sigh of relief that we’ve nearly made it to pay day relatively unscathed. But has it really been as bad as everyone expected?

No doubt about it, January’s the month to stay indoors, draw the curtains, whack the heating right up and generally do whatever possible to preserve an already bruised overdraft. Forget about ‘black Monday’, my bank account’s still dreaming of a black Christmas. And the end of January will spell the end of the self-imposed £2-a-day lunch rule – if I never see another can of tesco soup ever again it’ll be too soon. Even through the festive season, the spectre of January loomed over us, and by lunchtime on Boxing day the sense of foreboding toward the lean month ahead had almost made me forget why I wasn’t at work in the first place.

But there’s a certain feeling of freedom that comes with an entire month with no expectations at all. In any other month of the year, spending every weekend in a pair of ragged trackie-bottoms and a Glastonbury ’95 t-shirt with more holes than the plot of an average episode of Lost, with only DVD boxsets of the Mighty Boosh and Operation Goodguys for company would mark you out as a bit of a loser. But in January, it’s not only accepted, but encouraged – the rest of the population are doing basically the same, so why waste energy on going outside. You’re only going to get blown headfirst into a puddle anyway.

And until January 17th, I hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since new year’s eve. Well, more like 7am new year’s day, but it’s the same thing. And that’s not through some pointless lip-service to the tradition of meaningless resolutions, slurred into my latest beshtest mate in the worrrrlld (hic)’s ear in the last hour of the previous year, it was just through complete lack of both motivation and opportunity to kick my liver when it’s down. And it can only be a good thing really (of course, the Blackbridge 3rd birthday party more than undid any good this detox may have done, but it was more than worth it. Well, once Friday the 18th was out the way at least.).

The more I think about it, as an inherently lazy person, the more I’m starting to rate January. There’s still plenty of reading material left from Christmas presents to keep rubbish TV at bay (Phillip Pullman’s ‘Northern Lights’ is currently keeping my inner child entertained), and there’s plenty of good music around to feed the soul (if you’re interested, Burial’s ‘Untrue’ for the dark days, Geiom’s ‘Island Noise’ for the sunny-ish days, and Boxcutter’s ‘Glyphic’ for a spot of evening bassline confusion). And not only that, we seem to be being spared the annual Big Brother tabloid hype as the current manifestation of the human-cesspit-with-portholes is being roundly ignored.

So, as I realise I’m on the verge of an O.Scott-esque ramble, I’ll wrap by saying more power to January. Vote for me in the mayoral elections, and I’ll promise to shoehorn another lazy month in somewhere between May and June. By then, I think we’ll have earned it.