AS much as I'm tempted, I'm not going to join in with almost every other columnist in the land and urge you to make a fresh start for the new year.
You've had enough of columnists telling you this month of January is the time to (a) lose weight; (b) work on your fitness, and (c) set goals and start saving for your retirement, you slackers.
I'm not going there even if I (a) plan to lose weight; (b) work on my fitness, and (c) set goals, stop being a slacker and start planning my retirement.
January is a heady month, a hot steamy and sexy month for us here in Queensland.
January is a sensitively strange and wondrously weird time for those of us who live on the Coast and have to go about mundane routines and ordinary work and often boring business while we are surrounded by half-naked people on holiday.
One January about two decades ago I decided this was the month I was going to start the year with discipline and deprivation in a bid to face the new year with strength and willpower.
I pledged to give up nightly libation for the month.
"A fresh new year," I said to myself on New Year's Eve as I raised a fourth glass of bubbles to my lips. "No more nightly glass of wine for you, Madam, not from tomorrow morning until February 1."
I was newly arrived on the Coast at the time and didn't release this was the most ridiculously impossible month to go teetotal.
How can you not enjoy a glass of wine each evening when all around you holiday makers are sipping champagne on resort balconies, ordering a second mango daiquiri in lively bars, gulping down the chardonnay in restaurants and joining the queues in drive-through bottle shops?
But there I was, filled with determination and resolve to get through a dry January.
Each night of the long month, instead of heading to the fridge for the chardonnay on arrival home from work, I raced out the door for a slow walk in the sweaty, humid heat.
I was quite insane of course.
At that time I lived among a surfeit of resorts and apartment buildings so my walk took me past hundreds of revellers each evening.
I can still hear the sound of champagne corks popping all around me as I walked and sweated and cursed my stupidity at choosing this most festive of all the months on the calendar to embrace sobriety.
I have never done a dry January again. (And never will.)
Now that I am a Coast local of 23 years I know better than to apply restraint at a time when all those around me are letting loose.
However, it is not all about overindulgence at my place now in this new start to 2016.
There are small disciplines to be considered and they will be applied once the house is completely cleared of gluttonous Christmas food.
I have eaten the last of the left-over mince pies (only finished them off because all the Cadbury Favourites had been gobbled up), and the great big ham my husband insists on buying every Christmas and wrapping in a damp tea towel to store in the fridge is all but whittled down to its bone. That is something to be most thankful for.
Things are looking good for some discipline in February.
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