Loonies? I'm definitely one of them. Definitely. Yes, we do have a rather bigger pop per square mile = more loonies. Plus the odd sprite, but St George killed the dragon. The swine.
Hey, Katie-Ellen, we must be nearish neighbours, as I'm based just south of the Lake District! For me, therefore, January means the dense, acid cold of the high mountains, and the sound of snow fracturing under my boots. In fact, most distinctly of all, the very specific sound that crampons make as they bite into verglas, which is the exact same "shhhh-rrr-nk" sound that every swords'n'sandals epic uses when someone pulls a sword back out of their latest victim (and which I therefore find weirdly, Proustianly satisfying: every man has his own small boy still locked inside him!
And beyond all that, January means startlingly perfect light conditions for my landscape photography, the art form which makes me some actual real money, in the exact same way as my writing is never likely to do... Happy New Year!
p.s. No dragons, indeed, and no wolves either, since Edward I's edict and the mass cull of the late 1200s. It's said that the very last one was hunted down on Humphrey Head, and at this time of year it still more or less possible to stand there and hear, feintly, that older howl beyond the keening of the West wind as it scours Morecambe Bay.