I was about 12 when I began celebrating my birthday by sobbing over sad music

April might be the cruellest month to some; to my mind August is far crueller. But I can’t quite bring myself to say good riddance to it. Put August behind you and you’ve as good as kissed goodbye to the year. For me, also, it means brutally ticking off another birthday – it was last Monday, incidentally, but no presents, please – and that’s what makes it so cruel. I dread it coming and I dread it going – the ageing month.