August is the sweaty meadow of summer. Ladybirds lose their way in tangled hair. Wasps hit their heads against trees. Dogs pant. People fight. A rusty lawnmower roars to cut its way through wrappers and corks and lollies and condoms and grass. Trodden and tired. Overused and abused, August is. Waiting for school to start, autumn to begin. To blow away summer’s memories.