Because of an arbitrary calendar invented by pagans, underpinned by the social construct that is time, events have conspired to bring us January. Like rising damp or U2, it is, predictably, in our midst once again. It is a month like no other, upon which we project our hopes, desires and deepest, darkest fears, as if it were an all-knowing deity with the ability to save humanity if the requisite sacrifices are presented. We tell January we will stop drinking.