We are a quarter of the way through the year, almost. March is a capricious month, never knowing what it will bring: early sunshine, snow? I think of the months of the year as characters. January is female, and late to motherhood, February her inappropriately indulged first born, who makes all those it comes into contact with miserable.
March, the second child, does its own thing and keeps everyone insecure and guessing (the other months are various other members of the family. November is favourite uncle, April is favourite aunt…)
