August betrays us again

April is the cruellest month, said TS Eliot in “The Wasteland”, but surely August has a good claim to being the most perennially disappointing.

Conditioned by the school calendar, we tend to think of the eighth month as the height of summer. And yet just look out of the window. It’s AUTUMN.

We’re in that weird little intermezzo when a brief glance at the populace reveals people clad in flip-flops and vests co-existing alongside people in coats and scarves. When people are kidding themselves that it’s still summer by reference to the date.

It’s rare that my blogs are inspired by other people, and even rarer for me to give credit when they are – but this one came from my wife, Elvira of Castille, who pointed out August’s treacherous qualities to me last week.

Like Steven Gerrard/Frank Lampard/Wayne Rooney in an England shirt, August lets you down every time. You know in your heart that it won’t deliver on its promise, but you can’t help but hope it’ll be different this time. Gradually, that hope turns into belief just in time to let you down painfully. 

Also, it never snows at Christmas.