Originally published in The Clifton Courier, January 10, 2018

It’s always hard when the Christmas holidays coms to an end.

There are so many dark realisations you’re slapped in the face with once the New Year rocks around.

You’ve eaten so much you can’t imagine you’ll ever feel attractive again (unless, of course, your definition of attractive is resembling a sweaty potato with arms and legs, in which case you’ll feel like the sexiest thing that can’t breathe comfortably in pants). You spent all your money on scented candles for other people, so you have to survive on baked beans and leftover fruitcake. You have to start wearing shoes again. You can’t take afternoon naps anymore. You have to return to whatever galley you sweat your days away in to fulfil to the spirit-breaking responsibilities our capitalist society demands of us.

It’s hard not to get sucked down into a sinkhole of dread.

But to pull myself out of this pit of misery, I like to do what I always do when I need to justify the foolish, frivolous actions: pretend I learned something from the experience.

Not only does this make whatever ridiculous things I did with my time off more palatable, but it also allows me to present the rest of this column to you in list-form. You see, I made the foolish mistake of getting back to being a productive member of society (and yes, I do use the phrase “productive member of society” loosely) until the last minute and can’t really form proper paragraphs at the moment. So putting things in dot points really appeals to me.

Sure, the below list doesn’t change the fact that I have to be a functional member of society again, but at least it makes me feel as if I gained something from my time off.

So please, enjoy this list of things I learned on the holidays, and try to find some scrap of wisdom:

There are certain surfaces you shouldn’t walk on in thongs: as someone who likes to flaunt their true blue, ridgey didge Aussie ways over their city-slicking comrades, I fancy myself as the type of girl who can do anything in a pair of thongs. Sure, it’s an odd manifestation of nationalism, but I like to think that I could jog, dance and even outrun a cranky kangaroo in a pair of thongs. I viewed it as some noble ability, as if competently wearing stereotypical Australian footwear makes me some kind of ‘Strayan princess – which of course this feeds right into my misguided sense of self-worth. But as it turns out, creek beds and thongs don’t mix – you either get it stuck in the thick sludge that is muddy black soil or you slide right down a dry bank and end up with a gravel rash that makes it look like you got roller blades for Christmas.

There’s nothing professional about rocking up to work with a scab all up your leg that is flaking off like old paint on a weathered fence post: See the above point for reference. And this really doesn’t help in giving off a professional vibe if you’re already someone who’ll wear last night’s bed socks to work and try to make “corporate pony t-shirt” an office look.

Passion Pop does a watermelon flavour now: the nectar of my youth may set you back a steep $7 a pop (yeah, I meant to make that pun) but at least there’s now some variety. Along of the plain, carbonated regret flavour I grew up with, I was pleasantly surprised to be able to enjoy that same average taste with a hint of fruit.

You don’t have to be fancy to appreciate a good wine: See the above point for reference.

You can double-batter a chip: if you’re eating fish and chips and the batter comes loose, don’t just waste it – you can stuff the hollow cone of deep fried carbs with deep fried potatoes. It’s like eating chips, only with more salt, more oil and a complete lack of self-respect. I recommend it with chicken salt.

Dieting just isn’t going to happen to this year: See the above point for reference.