Author: Liz Dawes
share

Liz Dawes decides to give up some home comforts this New Year but is it well timed?

This year, for the first time ever, I have food-and-drink related New Year’s resolutions.  They are to give up alcohol, bread, cake, pastry and biscuits in January, and to cut my caffeine intake to 4 cups of tea or coffee per day (as opposed to my usual 8 to 10).  You’ll be well aware by now that I’m fond of a glass of wine in the evening, but have always declared that I could take it or leave it, with the loud confidence of someone who knows they’ll never actually have to prove it.

Alas, I didn’t get off to a good start: it was my mate Sam’s 50th birthday on Jan 2nd and on the 3rd I had a long-overdue catch-up dinner with an old friend. However, I knew these two events were in the offing so had planned a pre-abstinence exemption.  Now, however, it has begun.  Moreover, I am 7 days in. So, what have I learned?

Well, it’s this: that denying yourself the small pleasures in life (and, for me, this means cake and wine in particular) is an abominable thing to do.  Compounded with the grimness of January (even if it is unseasonably warm) it’s just plain stupid.

On reflection, you see, New Year’s resolutions are just daft.  It’s not that there’s anything wrong with the concept – I mean, I quite like the idea of resolving to do something different, then seeing it through.  I’m up for the challenge. It’s just the timing that’s so absurd.  When you most need some home comforts and a bit of spoiling, when the year is at its most miserable and some pampering wouldn’t be amiss, we decide to engage in an en masse denial of life’s little joys, all so we can be truly, utterly desperate that it’s January, rather than just a bit peeved.

If you think about it, the start of summer is a far more sensible time for such an endeavour.  The sun has started to warm us, it’s not long until holiday season begins, and our spirits are soaring.  All that good mood and hearty bonhomie remains defiant in the face of something as trifling as a lack of, well, trifle. Or a glass of wine, or a fruity Pimms, for that matter.

January, on the other hand, is rubbish.  Once you are over the “New Year, New Me” feeling, your themes for the month are cold, rainy and broke.  This is surely the time to hunker down by the fire, under a blanket, with your favourite truffles, box sets and wine.  Of course, now I’ve said I’ll be booze-free and healthy, I’ll have to stick to it.  I’m nothing if not bloody-minded.

Just promise me this though (and I know you will):  If I so much as suggest doing something even vaguely similar again next year, please (I beg you) would you firmly and gently remind me to do it in June instead?

I would be eternally grateful and it’ll save us all a lot of heartache…