The Christmas and New Year break is fast becoming a distant memory, with the only reminder being the nearly empty box of Celebrations – if your house is anything like ours, there will be half a dozen tiny Bounty bars rattling around the bottom.
On top of that, the average person is skint until payday, which is still at least a week away, as not only did the majority of us spend far too much on the festivities but we somehow managed to find the deposit for the summer holiday when we were desperately in need of a pick-me-up during the first couple of days of 2018.
Then there are the resolutions – this is the week when the shine begins to tarnish on those overly earnest pledges to lose weight, walk more and spend less time online while doing more for longer with loved ones.
Most people I know are currently grimly sticking to their resolutions, which, from where I am sitting, largely involve either adopting a vegan diet or signing up for the abomination that is Dry January – I have never understood the all or nothing approach to life and have always preferred to exercise self control by doing things in moderation rather than putting myself through the purgatory that is abstinence, regardless of how long it may last.
But of course next week is the one when millions of us throw in the towel and start driving the 400 yards to the shop again to buy pork pies and six packs of our favourite poison, which is why the third week of January is usually far more enjoyable than this one.
It is still touch and go as to whether I will stick to my resolution, which was the intentionally ambiguous ‘appreciate what I have in life’ and is therefore much harder to gauge whether or not I break it.
I have calculated that the easiest way to judge whether or not I have stuck to it is if I manage to significantly reduce the number of times Mrs Tapp and I ‘have words’. As it stands, 2018 looks promising, largely due to the fact that I have made a real effort to remove my undergarments from the bedroom floor and place them where HomeSense intended; in the laundry basket.
I have also taken the bold step of actually doing a couple of loads of washing since January 1 but it is a chore I don’t excel at – I would much rather stick to ‘my’ jobs of doing the cooking, preparing lunch boxes and shopping for food.
Traditionally, this has left me vulnerable to the, not wholly unfair accusation that I only pick household tasks that I enjoy. The weekend gave me a glimmer of hope when I read about a study conducted by American academics which seemed to suggest that doing the washing was actually good for a woman’s mood.
It concluded that ladies who were exposed to the clothes bearing the scent of their partner were less stressed than women who weren’t. I manfully attempted to present this stunning piece of academic work as conclusive evidence that handling my smalls is actually good for her mental wellbeing.
She wasn’t convinced, but we didn’t spectacularly fall out either.
Dull or not, this could be a week which changes everything.