Traditionally January is the month of the year where I make resolutions to become the version of the person I always wished I could be. To lose two stone, to be more successful at work, to be a better husband and father. Every year I do this and every year I get to the first week of February and feel miserable, and wonder why I set myself up to fail?

I always wished I’d set my sights on something more achievable, like, “this year I’m not going to get mauled by a lion in the middle of Nottingham city centre”. I’d be pretty confident about that. Yes, unless there was a travelling circus passing through town at the exact point I wandered out of Sainsburys holding a sirloin steak, I’d totally nail that.

Dry January always baffles me. It’s dark, it’s cold, you’re skint, you have a house full of leftover booze, but that’s the month you decide to stop drinking? It’s insane. I know I probably drink too much, but the problem is, I’m British, it’s what we’re good at! I think it’s in our DNA, most people have a double helix, the British have a triple vodka.

It always amuses me when you see the advice on the side of alcoholic drinks, ‘Drink responsibly.’ Let’s be honest, how can you drink responsibly? Especially if you’re doing it properly. It’s an oxymoron. The more you drink the less responsible you are, because that’s the whole point of drinking!

You don’t hear people saying, “yes I may have had 11 pints, but I’m still completely in control of this scout group”

But here is another reason however, why myself and millions of others can’t do dry January this year, and this time it’s nothing to do with willpower or the weather. It’s far worse than that. For most of us Dry January was on the cards, until we heard the words ‘Home-schooling’. Now this month is going to be wetter than the monsoon season in the Amazon jungle. Let me tell you, there is no sexual tension stronger than that between a home-schooling parent, a box of wine and 4pm on a Tuesday afternoon.

We all worry about our children slipping behind, but we shouldn’t. We’re all in the same situation. I also remember that once my daughter spent nearly six weeks at school making a roman fort and when she’d finished, it was just an unpainted Weetabix box with a toilet roll stuck on it, so I think we can handle a few months out of the system.

Obviously education is important, but most of the people in this government went to Eton. That’s meant to be the best education money can buy and we’ve seen how stupid they are, so let’s all just relax, okay?

Getting in shape is always another resolution I fail at every single year. Some people have a difficult relationship with food, my problem is we get on really well, a bit too well to be honest. It’s true love really, I need food and food needs me.

Spirit mediums claim they can talk to the dead, well I’ve got that gift with chocolate bars.

There is one in the kitchen cupboard right now, that has been trying to seduce me for hours. I can hear it talking, well it’s more like a Wispa actually, (sorry).

I recently watched a television program about dieting and they recommended chewing gum before eating as that can reduce your hunger dramatically by up to twenty five percent. Yes of course it will, because everything will taste of bloody mint, won’t it?!

As I get older I do think my diet is starting to work against me. At any one time we have at least three bottles of Gaviscon in our medical cupboard, it’s getting to the point where I am having to finish every meal with a shot of it, like posh folks do with a good brandy.

I can’t cope with anything above the acidity of a mild cheddar now. During the Christmas holidays I had one spoon full of onion chutney after 8pm. Big mistake. For two hours after I was laid out on the sofa moaning like my appendix had burst.

It’s also hard to commit to a fitness programme when you ache every morning. I never thought those days would come, but since I hit forty I no longer leap out of bed ready to seize the day, I inch my way out, grimacing like a heavily pregnant mother.

Everything hurts now, my shoulders, my back, my neck, all it takes is for me to nod and I’ve given myself whiplash. I can’t watch the programme Question Time anymore, because if I agree with a point too vigorously I’ll end up in a neck brace.

“What happened to you Scott?”

“Someone said something about free school meals and that was it!”

Self-improvement get’s more difficult as you get older. There is less incentive to bother. You know who you are and what you like, and there is a freedom in that. You don’t care what people think anymore. You’ve whittled your friendship circle down to three people and you’re happy with that. You have less time for redemption too, the reality is if you’re forty and you’re a knobhead, then you’ll probably die a knobhead.

But if there is one year that you can skip these resolutions, it’s 2021. After last year no one needs to better themselves, we just need to look after the version we’ve got now. Don’t set yourself targets, life is hard enough at the moment. Let’s make this year the one where we focus on doing the things that make us happy, let’s make that our goal.

So this month I take a brief look at what some of these things might be.

Essential Oils

The sales of essential oils have increased over recent months, with many people using them to help bring a little moment of happiness. There are many different ones available. Lavender helps to soothe and calm, citrus can help to perk you up, and the aroma of sunflower oil wafting through the house means that your chips are nearly ready.

Gardening

Even if you’re isolating, the garden has the power to provide wonderful escapism from the stresses of life. Sitting there on your bench in the sun, with a coffee, listening to the bloke next door strim that same patch of grass for three straight hours.

There is nothing better for the soul than a day spent digging gods soil. It almost makes the days you spend in crippling agony afterwards seem totally worth it.

If you’re not used to it, gardening can be brutal. In May 2020 the Queen guitarist Bryan may, tore his bum muscles after a vigorous session tending to his flowerbeds. I have never heard anything as quintessentially British as that. In LA gangster rappers get shot at from moving vehicles. In the UK one of our most famous Rockstars pulls a butt cheek whilst gardening.

You could tell Brian was a qualified Astrophysicist, as when speaking about the incident, he was quoted as saying:

“I’ve managed to rip my Gluteus Maximus in a moment of over-enthusiastic gardening”

In Layman’s terms what he means is:

“I’ve been digging and I’ve torn my arse muscles”

That had to be the most British accident ever. The only way it could have been more British was if he’d slipped on a cucumber sandwich whilst carrying a pot of tea and listening to the Archers.

I’ve realised that keeping a pristine garden when you’ve got children is pretty much impossible. I bet even Alan Titchmarsh wouldn’t bother if he had to deal with an angry five year old taking the heads of his tulips with a Paw Patrol football on a daily basis.

Walking

A stroll is a great way to lift the mood and reconnect with nature. I love those people who get into all the gear. The Gortex jacket, the brand new walking boots, the GPS tracker. All essential kit for that half a mile stroll around the local nature reserve. You hear them coming a mile away, metal water bottles clinking, gadgets beeping, they look like they’ve been on a Duke of Edinburgh challenge for the last thirty years.

Most of us have lost those compass and map reading skills now. We just blindly follow Google maps until the battery runs out. We are useless without our technology. If we were in a field and someone shouted that a bull was charging we’d probably just try and plug our phones into it.

Walking has loads of benefits, but it’s a bit like broccoli: it’s clearly good for you but it’s practically impossible to sell it to your kids. If you want to see fear in your children’s eyes, just suggest going for a walk on a Sunday afternoon. They look at you like you’re sending them into battle. All the colour drains from their cheeks, they begin to panic and try to think of any excuse they can to get out of it. A walk isn’t a walk when you’ve got young children, it’s more like a hostage situation with Haribo.

You try and make it exciting, “come on kids, let’s find a stick!” They look at you with contempt, “A stick? What you on about mate? I’ve got a PlayStation at home, what year do you think it is? We aren’t cavemen!”

Mine are always bored by the first dog poo bin. They are hungry, hot, cold, tired, bored, it’s relentless. My wife will always try and keep things up beat, “It’s nice to get away from it all isn’t it?”

“What do you mean, get away? We’ve only gone about ten metres, I can still see the car!”

The other thing is, I have a four year old, and going for a walk with her is painfully slow. People have said to me to “cherish these moments Scott”. I say speed them up. Look, I get it, she’s experiencing things for the first time. But I’ve seen it all before, it’s a re-run for me. She’s staring in wonder at every cigarette butt, every petal on every flower. If it’s sunny and she sees her shadow, that’s the whole day gone. I find myself getting jealous of a crisp packet blowing along in the gutter, because even that is moving quicker than us. She once said to me “look daddy, a butterfly”. I said, “Yes, darling and when we came out here this morning, that was a caterpillar. Listen to Daddy darling, we can’t do another day on our own driveway!”

Decluttering

Clearing out your clutter is cathartic, and can bring happiness and calm. Many people have followed the Marie Kondo method which is to get rid of anything that doesn’t spark joy. It just applies to objects though. I know they can be annoying but it’s never acceptable to stick the kids in a bin bag, unless it’s Halloween.

We’ve all got too many clothes, we keep them in the hope that two things will happen. We’ll either lose weight or they’ll become fashionable again. Neither will occur. They’re skinny jeans and you’ve been a 36 waist for six years now. It’s over, accept it. When you get older, there is a cut off point for skinny jeans, and it’s often the circulation around your flabby inner thighs.

There is nothing that hurts your self-esteem more than a slim fit shirt. I hope that whoever came up with this concept, when they die, are buried in a coffin that looks normal but pinches them a bit under the arms. Putting on a slim fit shirt in January is the most depressing start to the year. It’s like trying to get a tent back into a duffle bag. There’s flesh spilling out everywhere, the kids are having to stand on my belly, there’s stitching tearing and buttons are popping off like triggered land mines. I get those hideous areas of exposed flesh in between the buttons too, peering through like a babies head does during childbirth.

Someone should do a dad fit. Something that looks good when you’re doing the school run, makes you appear all toned and lean, a bit like a corset, holding all that flesh around the back like a pony tail. Then when you sit on the sofa that night at home, holding a beer, the truth just pops back out again.

But I think the thing that makes me really happy is that this year we have the hope that we can have real human contact again. In real life, not in the virtual one. We’re a social species, we need to talk, to embrace, to laugh together again. As a stand up comedian I’ve really missed this more than anything. I’m ashamed to admit this, but I once timed putting my bin out with the NHS clap, just to feel popular. I needed that applause.

I can’t wait to reconnect with people. I’ve even thought about shoplifting in the supermarket, just so I could have a conversation with the store detective. I thought, “perhaps if I made a run for it he might get me in a headlock”. Can you imagine that, a conversation and a cuddle all in the same night, I don’t think I could handle it!

So be kind to yourself this year. Some of your friends may try and make you feel guilty with their hopes of self-improvement, but ignore them, this year is about recovery not re-invention.