The Last of Christmas

Well, that's it. I've just eaten the last piece of the Christmas cake my mother baked for me, and with it has gone the last remaining vestiges of Christmas 2011. I know it all ended officially on twelfth night and I did, indeed, pack away the decorations then, but I never quite feel the festive season is truly over until I've finished that cake. I can finally move on and face the new year! Actually, it was always something that bothered me as a child - the indecent haste with which we always seemed to leave Christmas behind. Back then it seemed a magical time of year and, as a child, you wanted it to last for as long as possible. Yet, come January, just as the weather always seemed to be even colder and miserable than it had been in December, we were expected to forget about the recent time of joy and warmth. It seemed that you weren't even allowed to mention Christmas, even though it had occurred only a week or two earlier.

In recent years, I've felt those feelings returning, with the abrupt return to work straight after New Year feeling ever more jarring. The strength of the feeling is undoubtedly proportionate to my increasing dislike of my job. It also probably has something to do with my encroaching years - forcing my aching bones back out into the hostile environment of January seems less appealing with every passing year. Sadly, they keep putting back the age I can retire at, so there's no relief in sight on that front! Don't get me wrong - I'm not one of those people who gets depressed at the prospect of another January and I definitely don't buy any of this 'Blue Monday' crap. It's just that I'd rather not be working during it any more! Maybe if I had a more fulfilling job I'd be less reluctant to let go of Christmas. In the meantime, I'll just have to look forward to Easter.