We are back at work (not that may of us ever left but we still wore Christmas jumpers) and it’s starting to become clear that those well-intended resolutions made in a haze of alcohol, written in our spanking new journals and tattooed on our forearms might be a little bit harder to pull off than we thought.
And it’s only week one.
Back in the workplace, the air is alive with the sounds of beeping and vibrating as smart watches acquired as gifts guilt-trip the professionally sedentary.
At random moments colleagues leap up from their desks and dive down the stairs in a desperate attempt to get their steps up, while others perform yoga in the kitchen area and meditate in any available cupboard.
Every workstation is accessorised by gleaming new water bottles containing life-giving water and freshly home-pressed green juices and smoothies while a queue forms outside the bathrooms as the extra liquid and fibre takes its inevitable toll.
The air is ripe as newly deprived bodies sweat off the cheese and booze Christmas excess while gym bags which have been mouldering in car boots since last January make an unwelcome and slightly smelly reappearance.
Meanwhile, lots of plans to take part in Dry January, Veganuary, or the particularly horrific sounding Tri January are discussed earnestly and at length on desks still sporting tins of chocolates, mega-packs of crisps and bottles of fizz from Secret Santa - all of which are being studiously ignored.
Above the hum of unhappy Ryvita and celery-crunching, the snivelling is getting louder and louder.
Bodies coming down off a Christmas high and fresh from interaction with small and highly infectious children begin to succumb to multiple illnesses, none of which will be stopped in their tracks by a cheeky gin and tonic, thanks to Dry January.
The misery gets louder until we all cave - and rip open the Roses.
Happy New Year.