Glorious August

It's August again.  Usually by now I'd have posted my usual paean to the joys of this magnificent month.  Indeed, yesterday was the 'Glorious Twelfth', (the beginning of the season for upper class twits to shoot slow-moving birds), although I'd say that the whole of August is glorious, not just one day, (not that the grouse shooting season is particularly glorious for the grouse).  However, I've been too busy ranting of late to address this vital issue.  So, to make amends, let me say how great it is to be in August!  Not least because my annual Summer leave is shortly to begin - a wonderful extended period of escape from work.  Oh yes, the August Bank Holiday - possibly my favourite public holiday - is also imminent.  Those weeks away from work can't come too soon.  It seems as if the entire world is on holiday already: empty offices, empty streets and a general sense of inertia gripping those of us still here.  I know some people are complaining that the heat of July has gone, leaving us with a muted end to the Summer, but frankly I prefer the current levels of heat: pleasantly warm with a slight cooling breeze.  Perfect August weather.

 August also means that it is the time of year when I tell people that I'm taking my one man show to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.  Not that I ever do, of course.  Not that I actually have a one man show.  But I find it an easy way to deflect the inevitable questions people persist in asking me about where I'm going for my holidays.  I've never understood this obsession some people have with how others spend their time off.  I've also grown tired of people clearly thinking that I'm abnormal because I don't choose to spend my time off in the Summer being bored to death in some Mediterranean resort.  So I eventually concocted the lie about Edinburgh - and now I'm stuck with it.  Actually, it is good fun thinking up a new fake one man show every August and inventing false venues.  So, what's it to be this year?  'I Was a Sex Pest From Outer Space' performed at the Ruptured Badger pub?  Or maybe 'Holy Shit, Holy Grail?' performed in the municipal public toilets on the corner of Sporran Street?