Temporal displacement

I remember once being on holiday in Brittany in August. Residents and visitors alike seemed to have made for the coast, and the inland towns were sleepy in the hot sun. There was a pleasant sense of having the place to yourself. It didn't seem possible that things could be any quieter; but I hadn't reckoned with the Feast of the Assumption, the mid-August bank holiday, the quinze août. The sun blazed down, the shadowless streets were deserted but the cafés were shut.

Since then, I've always thought of mid-August as the dead centre of the summer.

I only mention this because today is August 15th, and the first of the Christmas catalogues has arrived (thank you Diabetes UK).