May and September are my favourite months, because they are the same.
"No they're not!" you say. "They have different names for a start."
Fair play. But what I mean is I like them because they bring out the same feeling in me - the promise of interesting, better times ahead.
November? Cold, wet.
February? Fuck off.
March? It's STILL cold!
May is the first time of the year, almost every year, when the sun comes out and MEANS something. It's crappy and cold and wet and crappy and cold and the suddenly BANG - the sun comes out, and it's warm at the same time. And you think "wow, England's not shit all year round!" And everyone in England takes their tops off.
But September? After 3 years of going to university, I now have an instinctive reaction to early Autumn which reminds me of going back to the lights, the action, the new people of a new term at university. (For some reason this is stronger than 12 years of school where the new term means "Summer has ended, WHERE DID SUMMER GO?". I can't explain this.)
It's something in the air, in the first slightly damp, cool sniff, that brings an excitement out in me. And I just got a whiff of this today.
P.S. Drink + 3 days + boat + 8 mates + pirate gear = IMMENSE