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| There is so little to do people sit in a row and compare their socks |
It's cold, and by now, frankly, cold has lost its novelty value.
It's dreary—couldn't we have a few more sunlight hours yet?
Everyone still feels a bit financially damaged post-Christmas.
It always seems to be a bad time for deadlines.
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| Setting fire to your feet while monster fish line up outside is a good way to spend February |
It's hard to be motivated, as there is nothing good just around the corner.
Everyone falls ill, even if they'd managed to survive the winter in tact to this point. Our immune systems just get bored with the whole fighting-off-viruses thing.
The winter foods and drinks that are delightful in the autumn are just reminders that it's STILL not spring. I've had enough hot, spiced apple juice now. And croissants are very nice but I wish it was warm enough for Greek honey and raspberries again.
There is still a Christmas pudding in the cupboard and now it's inevitably going to stay there until Christmas this year.
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| The post-Christmas diet and dry January take their toll |
February is peak 'can't be bothered time.' I'm actually quite glad to be at the boring stage of all the books I'm writing at the moment as I don't have the enthusiasm to work up new ideas. The ideas stand on the sidelines fluttering their eyelashes and trying to look shiny, but I don't care. I'm not looking. It's too much trouble, and they'll never turn out to be as good as they seem because they never do.
I was going to organise a post-Christmas lunch for February because nothing exciting ever happens. But it would just feel flat and contrived and Februaryish.
This February feeling gets into everywhere and everything, like sand does when you go to the beach. Or like those little black storm beetles do in summer.
Does anyone know any antidote to February? Besides just waiting for March?
Anne Rooney
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A book not written in February:
