Easy ways to make January nicer

Seasonal decorations, no diets, candles and other lovely things

Firstly, sorry. There was a Friday last week and I missed it, Substack-wise. That’s because it was January but not as we recognise it. Not January proper. Last ‘Friday’ (if you insist on putting a label on it) I was still in the sofa-dwelling fug, eating ‘picky bits’ for lunch (AGAIN) and wondering if it was ever going to be possible to reach the end of the cheese (not there yet). But now the kids are back at school, we are back at work, the decorations are down* and the sofa remains firmly unsat on during working hours.

There’s something in my Catholic core (I’ve long renounced it as a religion but some bits stay with you) that enjoys the penance of January after the gluttony of December. On Monday morning, I nearly froze my face off during the dog walk and it gave me genuine pleasure. Nonetheless, the relentless rain and ginormous credit card bills can make January feel somewhat melancholy. This is what I do to lift the spirits.

*January decorations

These originated in that awful COVID January lockdown in 2021. I started to take down the Christmas decorations on Twelfth Night and my husband said: ‘Dear God, is everything not s*** enough without also losing the pretty lights?’ Which I thought was fair.

So now I take down everything that is aggressively Christmas – shiny baubles, tinsel, Merry Xmas signs, Nutcracker soldiers – and leave on the tree only the lights, lots of tied on ribbon bows, a string of golden beads and winter-themed decorations, such as icicles, silvery snowflakes and fir cones. But not much of anything, it’s about the green of the tree and the lights.

Around the house I take down pretty much everything, except for white fairy lights and some of hanging non-shiny baubles. The key here is no coloured fairy lights and nothing twinkling. (Ghastly word. I have come across the word ‘twinkly’ in two recommended books recently and had to close them immediately.) Static lights only but warm.

I’ve been hunting around for decorations to bring out especially for January as I like that idea, but haven’t hit on much yet. I’m waiting for the delivery of these pretty non-shiny baubles from Toast, and a paper garland, but the paper stars and lanterns I ordered from a party website are too large. (Cheap, though, so keeping them for a birthday.) Get a load of Command invisible hooks and invisible thread, so you can go mad with things dropping from the ceiling. If that’s your thing (it is mine). What I really want is a long bolt of silk that I can drape around things (instead of tinsel) – can anyone tell me where I can find such a thing? I think what I’m hankering after is that general feeling of layered, cosy things that the Christmas decs give us – it all looks so bare when they come down, and I’m not ready for that more spartan feel until the sun starts shining.

Could do a bit more filling vases with any greenery I can find outside – even tree branches and a straggling holly bush will look good indoors. I bought hyacinth bulbs ready-planted in a basket from a supermarket in early December and they have most pleasingly bloomed without any effort from me, so I’ll be doing that again next year.

Also lighting lots of candles – on the kitchen island, downstairs loo, bedside table. Just the flicker of a flame is enough to make me feel warmer. My best tip this year was to make sure a group of candles is at different heights. And I go mad on scented candles. I was given a lot of them this year – I’ve reached that age. Twenty-five years ago I was given six – SIX! – copies of ‘Bridget Jones’s Diary’ (including two audiobooks). I can’t deny my friends don’t know where I’m at in life.

I’m going to do a round-up of best scented candles soon but you can get away with burning the cheap rip-off Jo Malone ones from Lidl – they burn fast but they smell pretty good. Light half-an-hour before you come down for that first drink (or before guests arrive).

Which leads me to the good stuff.

Drink

Yes, I’m still drinking. Not lots, but the point is no deprivation. It’s JANUARY. Red wine was practically invented for the winter. I’m happy with a mid-priced Spanish Rioja, two small glasses a night, savoured. My husband is enjoying vodka and Big Tom (spiced tomato juice, excellent, needs no additions), a warming way to start the pre-supper game.

And…Food

No diets either. I’m still wearing enormous jumpers. If I need it (I usually do), I do a serious diet in March, because when the daffodils start blooming, I can begin to visualise summer and t-shirts again, and the motivation is there. (Pippa Campbell’s is the only one that works for me, with recipes that keep the whole family happy so you don’t spend three weeks cooking 7 separate meals a day.)

I’m cooking lots this month. All those articles about nutritious to-do lists are mad (I read two articles in the same newspaper on the same day, one saying eat nothing in the morning to live a long life, the other saying you must eat in the morning, preferably lots of fibre, to live a long life) but there have been some yummy recipes. Instead of rolling chicken liver pâté, there’s something pleasing about investigating eight different ways to cook an aubergine and discovering the virtues of tinned green lentils. (Tim Spector’s new book, Food For Life, is good so far, all veggie and lots of science. Also check out Lizzie King’s new Substack, Eat Up.)

God help me, I have just ordered an entire box of Forest Feast Salted Dark Chocolate Almonds. An oxy addiction has nothing on these. But even with shipping, this works out a lot cheaper than buying them at Tesco.

The Good Notes Jar

We do this every year. It sounds sentimental and twee, and maybe it is but it brings me joy. An old large jar (marmalade?) is in the kitchen by all the keys and odd bits, with scrap paper and a jar of pens nearby. When something nice or good happens – the small (especially the small) and the big – one of us will write it down with a date, fold it up and put into the jar. On New Year’s Day, we go through the jar as a family, and usually end up adding several things that we forgot to write down. It means we remember things we’d totally forgotten about and the happiness they brought is retold and laughed about all over again.

Looking through the jar improves January when you are feeling skint and daunted by the pressure of Achieving Things in the new year… It’s a reminder that the best things that happened to you were probably quite tiny in the scheme of things. And the bad stuff is easily forgotten. My Dad always said that if something awful happened you should ask yourself if it would make a chapter in your autobiography – the truth is, most things wouldn’t even make a paragraph.

Make your own book

I keep the stash of notes in an envelope tucked inside a Photobox book in which all my favourited photos of the year are printed. (So easy to do – simply upload, Photobox does the layout for you, though you can fiddle with it if you want.) I don’t even bother doing captions – you can write them out by hand onto the book afterwards, which I think is prettier. Such a nice thing to look at when you are old and desiccated and guaranteed to dissolve into sobs at the sight of your unlined face and tiny babies.

(Note: Photobox nearly always runs a discount offer – the current one is 50% off with WINTER2025.)

That’s enough for now! Please click the heart if you liked it. And tell me your lovely January things in the comments below…