New year, old me

This week: why do we count this miserable time of year as “new” anyway? Why does Rishi Sunak still believe he’s winning? Some more things Henry Scampi is scared of; and some maps of city height.

It is, of course, the most miserable time of the year, and even if you don’t have a job the week so far has brought quite horrific “the school holidays are over” vibes. I never understood why people still pretend to themselves that everything – their diet or alcohol intake, how hard they work, the frequency with which they attend gyms – is going to change this week. The skies are grey, the fun bit of the season is behind us, and there are still months and months of winter to run. Is a week when you’re depressed, and your kitchen still has leftover booze, cheese and chocolate in it, really the most realistic point to cut calories, alcohol or social contact? Wouldn’t Dry February make more sense? (February is, apart from anything else, shorter.)

This song, by Radio 4’s finest John Finnemore, is technically not about this week, but you take my point.

Since the message emanating from either weather or nature is hardly “this is a time for fresh starts”, one interesting question is why the New Year starts in January at all. In fact, for a very long time it didn’t. To the most ancient of ancient Romans, the year began in March: this is of course why, in many languages, September to December are named for the Latin words for “seventh” to “tenth” even now.¹

At some point, though, the Romans reformed their calendar to make January – the month named for Janus, the god of doorways and beginnings, traditionally depicted with two faces – the first month, although when exactly this happened is a little hazy. Tradition has long credited it to Numa Pompilius, a king who ruled Rome around 700BCE, but we can likely discount that because he was probably mythical, and anyway there’s evidence that January only became the first month in around 153BCE. 

In post-Roman Europe, the kingdoms that replaced the western empire amended the calendar to celebrate new year on a date more appropriate to their Christian faith: generally 25 March (the Feast of the Annunciation), or 25 December (go on, have a guess). The British went with the former, and kept to it for a surprisingly long time: as late as the 18th century, the new year began in the spring, which means, confusingly, that 24 March 1750 was followed by 25 March 1751. 

A calendar, on fire. DYSWIDT? Image: Craiyon.