September

I've taken to walking at lunchtime, even though there's nowhere interesting to go in an hour and not much else to see apart from other offices and office workers. It's like Clonesville, but at least the weather is good; the slightest covering of cloud and a strong, fresh breeze.

In Ealing, West London, there are two great recreation parks separated by a crossroad in a quiet residential street. They are two of the largest, and oldest, municipal parks I'd known anywhere in suburbia. I used to work nearby and most lunch hours would complete a figure of eight around both parks by the perimeter paths, a walk which would take almost exactly the whole hour. It was a fine walk, especially if the weather was good.

A short time later, an old work-mate joined the firm. He was Polish and he came to England, via France, at a time when Poland was under communism. His command of English was really good though he still had an accent which added charm to his words and gave the simplest of statements an air of gravitas and wisdom. And he was slightly older than me, possibly by as much as ten years.

Our paths crossed in the park one day. It was mid-Summer. I'd made some remark about how good it would be to holiday in Britain, if the weather was as good as it was that day.
I remember he said immediately how, in England, in September and, sometimes, October, it could be good, also.

I wasn't aware of this at the time, in fact I was a bit dubious. I was young enough still to associate September as the month for going back to school at the end of a long Summer break. But in passing years I found my Polish friend was right. September is a fine month, also. In fact, I'm not certain it isn't my favourite month of the year.