August

I'm not sure I'm all that fond of August. You can never get hold of anybody because they're away or you're away or you're both away. And there's either too much sun, which withers the garden, or too much rain, which has everybody moaning. Not much happens either, apart from Jacks's birthday on the 18th. (I gave her a microscope -- how's that for romantic?) But to be fair, this year a friend of ours was struck by lightning (or at least her house was, while she was in it) which relieved the boredom a bit. Nearly over now, thank goodness. September's usually better.