January blues. Too many scoffed biscuits from a generous neighbour. Then an indulgence of meat force-fed at Grandma's birthday and leftovers there after which even Harik fusses. This christmas food hangover must end. It is noticeable the detrimental difference this takes on our bodies diet. So used to racing through the pumpkin surplus in the cellar before the evil teenage face-looking zits take over completely the hardened surfaces. Garden carrots are rhythmically compressed to juice now as part of the detox recovery. The over-sized homegrown beetroot too is no longer admired, just chomped down in whatever way makes us recuperate.
And all this cannot be explained to a neighbour round these parts who's diet we had just skipped into for only this darkest period of the year. The norm of meat, and more meat, followed by hard drink and whitest of white sugar biscuits with coffee granules swimming in your cup to swash it down. Time to lie down and and let the perspiration dry, and thinking did I really see an advert on Slovak television at Jana's Gran's place for a medicine called "retard".