Enough, detox bores. Why don't you get a liver?

I hate to be the bearer of bad news but the fun is almost over, folks. It's that time of year when heady excess gives way to needy self-flagellation. Because no sooner has the Advocaat been drained and the last Lindor unfurled that someone starts banging on loudly about their internal cleansing rituals – involving kale, wheatgrass, and similar middle-class foodstuffs – and entreating all within hectoring distance to join them in their annual detox.

When exactly did it become mandatory to punish ourselves after a period of indulgence? When did Christmas come with a side order of guilt? Surely January is dreary enough without filling it with wheatgerm smoothies, guaranteed to cause a gippy tummy, while trying to convert reluctant relatives to your latest cardiovascular exercise routine.

Social media has gone a long way in enabling these thundering bores to foist their flip-flopping lifestyle choices on friends and colleagues, but the fashion for detoxing is, of course, part of a much bigger industry. Look around and you'll see acres of ad space that five days ago was exhorting us to eat, drink, and submerge ourselves in all that Christmas has to offer but is now using words like "revitalise", "cleanse", "heal" and "purify" in order to sell us everything from dietary supplements and spa treatments to cosmetics and self-help manuals. Naturally, this is aided by a culture in which any excess flab – particularly that of women – is under more scrutiny than ever.

The word "detox" used to refer to the serious business of weaning drug-users off their addictions, but now alludes to assorted dietary fads aimed at purging the body of the rubbish apparently sloshing around after a few weeks of boozing and over-eating. In its current incarnation, the suggestion is that quick and drastic action is needed to rid us of these toxins, conveniently overlooking the fact that we have livers that already do this job perfectly well.

The path to self-improvement traditionally begins in January and it is this notion of turning over a new leaf that drives the detox industry to shame us a little bit more every year. I now look back with fondness at a time when it was just smokers who would bore me with their empty promises in late December. Now I can't move for people embarking on a seasonal health kick.

At this point it is tempting to advise eating and drinking in smaller quantities to alleviate the need for such extreme measures, but that would clearly be insufferable. (And anyway, weren't we all supposed to be doing the 5:2 diet to save us from this pain?) So, instead, I would ask that you spare me the details of your seven-day juice plans, your 10-mile jogs, and quality of your latest bowel movement. And if you must make rash resolutions for the sake of your health, don't expect me to join in. If a new year is about new beginnings, I don't wish to start mine hallucinating from hunger and with a bad case of the runs.

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