It is no coincidence that my least favourite month is named after probably the least glamorous god. January, dragged down by the cold, poverty and the post-Christmas famine, is the most dreary of months. And what is worse, January somehow manages to be the longest month lasting seven weeks. At least.
Chocolate and cake are still in abundance. Twinkling lights still on the tree. Christmas cards are still falling from their allotted holder every time the door opens. We can't move on though. It is that strange vacuum between Christmas and New Year where things aren't quite celebratory and yet aren't yet quite back to normal.
A huge and monstrous cat from Icelandic folklore, who eats people who have not received new clothes before Christmas eve. Horrific.
Every year the conversation goes like this:
Child - "Santa isn't real, he's my dad!"
Me - "Wow! Your dad is Santa? How cool is that?"
Kids have it all don't they? We know that Christmas is all about them, from the baby Jesus to Father Christmas/Santa Claus coming down the chimney to leave them gifts under the tree. From November and throughout December the marketing is all about them, too. Buy this doll that looks like a wrinkled newborn and produces stuff from its man-made orifices that's as ugly as anything nature can provide. Films and television are all about keeping the faith of Santa. All aimed at children and those who provide for them.
Legend has it that when the first Christmas advert for Coca-Cola appears on television, then Christmas proper has begun.
Probably the most successful English king you have never heard of.
It seems weirdly logical that the month following Halloween was once called 'Blood Month'.
Abbey Road, Mr Spock, castles, the headless horseman, gargoyles, cats, Dracula, ghosts, owls, teeth and not forgetting my logo. All of these are things I have seen carved into pumpkins. Brilliant, every one of them.
By October, the chilly nights and crispy mornings indicate that winter is coming. Throughout history, it has been a time to prepare.