Well, it’s back to reality. Christmas and New Year are fast becoming a distant memory and it’s ‘back to it’ as you lot say.

I’ve just taken a stroll through town, popping into Debenhams, River Island and my numero uno destination in Workington, Home Bargains, to find myself confronted with myriad depressed chops.

Those who still have enough drive to hit the shops post-Christmas look as down as a pair of tights when the Workington summer hits in September. Welcome to our grand depression session, guys!

I must say that I was a bit down in the dumps post-Christmas. I’d found myself in a compromising position trying to stick the tree back in the loft and had to call the fire brigade out (very disappointed Tom Hardy didn’t appear with a hard hat and a hose).

Then I discovered I’d munched through my stash of Ferreros and that the cheap perfume I received was actually Febreeze (though I wouldn’t have known had it not been pointed out).

But I was soon to find that my frown would well and truly be turned upside down when an unexpected parcel arrived the other day. I had no clue what it was.

Close inspection of my eBay purchases, however, soon revealed that I had spent a whopping £197.28 during the early hours of Sunday.

As you can imagine I was obviously intoxicated and decided to treat me la’al sel.

I was happy to discover that I’d ordered myself quite a dazzling array of hair extensions and wigs.

All I can surmise is that something had persuaded me to change my look asap. So God only knows what mischief I had gotten up to on the Saturday night.

One wig in particular was a very long, striking multi-coloured number, very animé-esque.

I popped it on and was instantly transformed into a character from awful 1980s cartoon Jem and the Holograms. I felt fantastic.

I was so smitten by it that I decided to wear it into work. I got a few odd looks but luckily my employer doesn’t discriminate against crazy hair or weird piercings through your face so no one batted an eyelid.

I was happily going about my business until I heard a very high-pitched squeal that perforated my left ear drum.

“Rainbow Dash!” a very excitable little girl screamed, shaking her head in furious disbelief.

At first I looked around and was disappointed that I couldn’t see a My Little Pony circling overhead, then I realised she meant me.

I humoured her and we spoke about how I could morph into a lady when I entered Workington as it wasn’t really a safe place for magical ponies.

I explained that if found in my true form I would be paraded around the Hub while someone charged 50p for a ride or become an attraction at Trotters.

I was happy to play along until her irate father accused me of over-charging him for his items.

“The rain-blow stash has done me out of 20 quid!” he snapped. I explained it was a donation to fund a homeless, magical pony sanctuary and his daughter’s wide eyes diffused any possible agro.

My manager was happy, though. The tills were up and I’d done my part to avoid any post-Christmas slump in sales.

Maybe I am a magical pony? Or at least a donkey?