I don't like Mondays

I'm really not sure it's appropriate to write a post today. Especially after yesterday's less than cheerful offering.

According to some, today 17th January is the worst day of the year. Expect a peak number of passengers under trains, divorce petitions served and homes  re-possessed.


I don't know what it's like in your neck of the woods but here the weather provides the ideal accompaniment. It's dark, dank and dirty.

Those who know about these things - compulsive depressives  and  out of work psycho-therapists -  say it's all down to a few factors.

First, this week those credit card bills descend on households like the seven plagues of Egypt.

It was so much fun flashing the plastic over Christmas and the January sales, wasn't it: but we got rather carried away, didn't we. The lustre has rubbed off that new watch, suit, TV, sofa, bed bought at the height of the sales frenzy, but we'll still be paying for them and the frightening interest this time next year. By which time those wonderfully new consumables will be languishing in the local charity or pawn shop.

Then there's the job. You needed a break and by golly you made the most of it ( see above). Now those tasks that you joyfully ignored until you came back refreshed and full of attack, are still to be done and  far more complex than the optimistic Pre Christmas you imagined.

Your work colleague's frightful halitosis hasn't vanished over the Christmas break and it's one of the "issues" you need to raise with him at his annual review. There's rumours of lay-offs and short time working  - and it's only the middle of the month!

And all those good intentions made so rashly at the birth of the Infant Year; full flushed with booze, pizza and pretzels.

Kicking the weed: that lasted less than 24 hours and 3 packets of gum and patches.Not your fault you got them confused.

Losing weight: the new members queue at the local gym was worse than a RyanAir stampede at Luton airport in mid summer, but you persevered and signed up for 12 months and 6 sessions with a personal trainer. It's a shame you gave up after the first two weeks. The refund will help pay off some of your overdraft; but with only a 60% refund it's cost you £100 a session. Ouch!

There's always the wife and kids. That's the trouble. There's always the wife and kids. What happened to that "jack the lad" of a few years ago, glimpsed so fleetingly at your sister in law's New Year's Eve Party?

As my wise old dad used to say when things were looking grim "Make the most of it. It's bound to get worse."