Current mood: Happy **real** new year!

1996 was a very, very good year for me. Singing solos at school! Had my ears pierced! Three ‘boyfriends’ in the space of as many weeks! My star was on the rise; I was a playground big shot. Sometimes I fear now that aged 11 was as good as it was going to get. I think it probably was.

But the thing I really, really envy about my 11-year-old self – aside from the complete obliviousness about how hard life is – was the back-to-school, new term uniform which I nailed. A silver puffer jacket, box-fresh Kickers and a Shelly’s record bag, inexplicably a very big trend at my school. September 1996, I was ready to take on the world. And while I would never wear those things now (ok, the coat I would) I do still covet the fresh-start, blank-page feeling that September brings with it. It’s why I think of this time of year as the **real** new year.

January is such a preposterous time to make resolutions. Who wants to break bad habits when it’s cold, dark and dank? Not me, thank you very much. Junk food and nicotine and spending money on stuff I don’t need bring me joy! Why would I want to give them up when I need them most?

September, on the other hand, is just the perfect time to usher in new beginnings. The pressure to have the Best Summer Ever(!!!) is now behind you; party season is still far enough away as to feel exciting and novel, rather than exhausting and fraught. And with the change of the seasons, the perfect time too for a bit of a style refresh. Think of everything you can look forward to now: knee-high boots and swaddling coats and super soft cashmere. Yum and yum and yum! Definitely a more tantalising prospect than 31st December’s flammable frippery and novelty glasses.

But if you actually have new-term dread ahead of the very real chaos that awaits this winter, if you’re feeling anxious, tired and broke right now – just remember everyone else has those supersized post-summer, Sunday blues too. And besides, new year is supposed to be disappointing, everyone knows that.

Laura