Editorial: Last of the summer swine

The end of the Christmas ham means back to work.

If decorating the Christmas tree is the most exciting time of the year, then felling it is surely the most gloomy.

There are few more sombre suburban scenes than a formerly verdant Christmas tree sitting unadorned and anaemic atop a trailer full of rubbish.

To boot, my leftover festive booze supplies have gone and the cards are in the recycling.

Our Christmas ham, picked at since the 25th, is now just a bone. The last of the summer swine signals that very moment the Christmas spirit is usurped by the dispirited.

How so? Why can't we hang on to the well wishing all year? After all, it's still summer, so why the melancholy?

Surely it's not just because the silly season assures guilt-free indulgence.

I think moreover it's because Christmas is a triumph of tone; that rare juncture where we look neither back nor forward. It's a time of presence.

We care only that the kids are happy and that something that once either clucked, mooed, baaed, roared or squealed is spinning slowly on the rotisserie.

In contrast, the second week in January marks a return to the aspirations of temperance, moderation, graft, common sense, early nights, self-improvement and working whatever hours you need to afford said protein for next year's rotisserie.

We treasure the festive season so dearly because we know there's a steep descent just over the hill.

Needless to say, now's an extremely tough time of year to stay positive.

But, as I heard someone say recently, rather than cry because it's over, smile because it happened.