EXCITED for September? Of course not. The ninth month of the year is an annual lesson in misery and disappointment, and here’s why:
It’s noticeably darker
The nights have been drawing in for a while, but it was so gradual that you barely noticed. September makes it unignorable that it’s going dark by around half-seven and if you happen to miss it cretins will point out this annual seasonal phenomenon and expect you to be pleased.
There’s no celebrations
October’s got Halloween, November’s got bonfire night, and you know the deal with December. September offers us f**k all and expects us to be happy about it. Even if it’s your birthday this month it’ll be tainted by the realisation that your parents were shagging on Christmas morning during Carols from King’s.
Autumn officially starts
Only sick freaks actually enjoy wet leaves, cold drizzle, and coffees pumped full of twatty syrups. You’ll be mildly interested in noticing that the trees have changed colour for two seconds before remembering that you’ve seen this countless times in the past and you don’t care.
You’ll get a cold
Never fun in summer but at least it seems an unfair exception. These days it’s not only the traditional herald of a season of sickness but will cause you to briefly panic that you’ve got you-know-what. Not debilitating enough for time off work, but you’re blowing your nose 24/7 and pissing off everyone around you. Will hang around until March.
Even its name makes no sense
September’s the ninth month of the year but it’s from the Latin for seven. What’s that about? Sure, some emperors f**ked things up 2,000 years ago by inventing new months and bumping back the rest, but we should have fixed this glaring error by now.