Usually I give no air time to looking backwards. I like to boast that I only look forward; ‘no good looking over your shoulder losers, we are not going in that direction’. Then – like every other mortal – I hit January and start showing some empathy towards the two-faced god Janus who liked to keep his options open and look both backwards and forwards at the same time. This pushmepullyou approach is frankly hopeless and provides no momentum to nudge forward into February. I need to address myself.

The long winter nights mean that I have had time to read a lot of Victorian literature, and even in this state of apathetic hibernation I have summoned up the energy to diagnose myself with the ‘mubble fubbles’ – a dose of melancholia. Since this diagnosis I have had to take action for if I allow this pity party to extend across the whole month I will enter February with very few friends. I need a plan.

I had been feeling rather smug this year, believing that I was approaching 2026 with stealth. I arrived at January 1st replete with a full stash of excellent 2025 memories; I set myself no New Year resolutions and for once I had not entered a marathon (believe me, I would have told you if I had). I believed I was full of energy, and yet two weeks into the new year I began to feel that this January is not Januarying like other Januaries have Januaried.

Thank goodness I am five years into a five year diary cycle which has meant that I can quickly refer to my last five Januaries and see if a pattern emerges. Even in my stupor I have enough energy for this research.

Believe me, these diary entries will not need publishing on my death; they have very little entertainment value and contain a worrying lack of scandal. Often the diary just notes how many miles I have run, how muddy boot camp has been and the scale of challenge that the students at school have presented. Looking through my back records I can see that this January melancholia is not something new. I notice that -although there are only five lines to fill in the diary each day – during the last five years of Januaries, I have often struggled to fill the allocated space: I do not have this problem in the summer months. I am bored with my January self when I read back through my entries. My back catalogue reveals that the glums are something I apparently wade through every January and then conveniently forget. Over the last five years my records show that I have:

• fretted that my garden shed will blow away in high storms (it still stands and I still fret)
• managed to misdiagnose a dose of shingles (I lived to tell the story)
• moaned that my body just wants to eat, sleep and watch The Traitors (no change here).
• promised that I will cut back on spending (found myself purchasing a new pair of running shoes…)

Reading my diary it is strangely reassuring that I am always this lethargic at this time of year – an all nighter for me is to be in bed by 9 pm with a good book and my winter duvet. I seem to moan every year about leaving and returning to the cottage in the dark. Every January I muse that living on a hill and being the proud owner of 30 precarious steps up to my rural turret, I should perhaps buy some road salt. Every year I fail to do this. Every January I also fail to allow the additional time needed to de-ice my car before setting off for work.

Every January I tell myself that I will wear practical and sturdy boots when I am out on gate duty. I manage to do this on one day this month and then just feel stompy and butch – perhaps this is down to the dangerous combo of Doc Martins, my high vis jacket and two weeks’ worth of comfort carb loading? It seems to rain solidly throughout January and yet I always seem to insist on wearing my leaking animal print pumps – at least I still have standards.

By contrast, January students are remarkably chipper. This year one of the Year 11’s asks me if I have been highlighting my hair grey. I will need to go back and check my diary to see if the grey hair is new or if I have just been in denial. The student also admires my leopard print pumps. I will record this pleasure later – it will fill a line.

I take solace that from my recumbent sofa position I can be a cheer leader for my family and friends who appear to be taking January by storm. In the mix we have:

• a trek up Pen-y-Fan
• a sponsored pledge to walk 2 miles every day in January
• a novel being written
• a promise to do less people pleasing
• the removal of cake from the staff kitchen.

It is all very admirable. Until completing my research I believed that I would usually be adding to this list but my 5 year diary says otherwise. I am a January spectator and cheer leader; I watch and learn in January. I promise to be dangerous by February. Thank goodness that my five year diary has tracked my lack of personal growth so that I can revel in this lack lustre pattern. Evidence indicates that I should trust the process and cut myself some slack. I promise I will emerge, but currently my five year plan is just to survive January.