This article and accompanying Bertoon appeared in today’s edition of The Malta Independent on Sunday.
If I had to engage in a silly exercise of anthropomorphising months – ascribing human features to months – I believe that September would have much to say about the way she has been treated. It has to be a she, because as horoscopic enthusiasts and dabblers would tell you, for most of the month the star sign to follow is Virgo. Which is not to say that I willingly engage in the logically faulty statement that “all virgins are women” but rather that I am going along with what I believe to be the general first impression of Virgo as normally pictured on the side of horoscopes – a lovely maiden pure. It was either that or have the irritatingly ever-smiling face of Richard Branson who has now become unredeemably associated with the word Virgin. So… back to September. She has been with us for some time now and has brought the gusts of wind, the first challenges to the festival weather and most of all, she has brought remembrances of all sorts. Yes, that’s because every day in September now reads like some form of lotto extraction, although this time it’s not an international form of the Italian “smorfia” (linking dreams to numbers) but a panoply of historic and not-so historic events that are fast clogging up the seventh month of the Roman calendar.