Each year, time & space ceases to exist as we know it as life enters a confusing void between X-Mas and the New Year. By this stage, you are ballsdeep in the silly season and without days being conveniently labelled you’re as lost as an Englishman at the Colgate factory. Sleep-deprived, sun-dazed, hungover but unburdened by responsibility.
To add to the beautiful chaos of your aimless drifting is the fact X-Mas & Boxing Day got you into the swing of pre-noon drinking. If you were to crack a coldie with your bacon & eggs on a normal Monday you’d probably be hard stretched to convince yourself this was “happy drinking”.
Not during this period though. In fact, not cracking a froff far too early feels like you are disrespecting the holiday period. Maintaining a half-cut haze is essentially for not staring into the festive abyss and being driven bonkers.
Another key characteristic of this week is adopting the fiscal responsibility of a bogan at a Jetski sale. Perhaps this is because the daily pub lunch and 6 pints is the only tether you have to reality at this stage.
Or maybe it’s because you received a copy of the Barefoot Investor for X-Mas. After just one ING account you’ll finally transform yourself into a financially literate individual that feasts at the Warren Buffet of life.
As for the excessive over-nourishment, you’ll just lie to yourself with vague promises of getting your life together at the gym in the New Year. A light at the end of your gluttonous tunnel.
Whatever you do, do not stray from the cricket on TV. As the scheduled programming has also entered a weird time warp where they figure no one is watching so they proudly display their D- Grade material.
It’s hard to feel like you’re living life to the max while watching a rerun of M*A*S*H or some other god awful trash.
It is also a period where bin tensions are at their peak. Not only are you unsure what day it is, but you are also unsure what day your bins will be emptied. While this seems like an easy problem to overcome it is evidently not.
Community pages all across FB are alive with the sound of hysterical boomers demanding to know why the bin man didn’t rock up to get rid of their obscene excess.
In turn, this also causes neighbours to turn on neighbours. Unscrupulous individuals won’t think twice about slipping a filthy bag of rotting seafood into your bin and letting you deal with the wafting aroma of a mermaid with a particularly yeasty undercarriage.
Ultimately, one must learn to enjoy drifting on the ocean of YOLO because the grim spectre of an impending return to employment will begin creeping in just after New Years Day- and given you’ll be broke and resembling a wheel of soft cheese, it’s gonna sting.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?