February, I think I was wrong about you all this time.

So oft-maligned, grey and gloomy February. Inky skies and perpetual rain, the pavements a sodden mess of day-old puddles and forgotten resolutions.

But I’m starting to think February may be my favourite (at least until March comes around…and I wax delirious over springtime and wear assorted flowers in my hair.)

So, February. Really rather misunderstood. There’s my birthday, to begin with, and though I’m the furthest from a ‘birthday’ person there is (I’m not very good at being made a fuss of), I’m enjoying growing older (and wiser?) and it is nice to have an excuse to eat cake and light sparklers.

This month is also the month furthest awy from January which counts for a lot in my book. A whole eleven months until dreaded January rolls around again. Hurrah! And the fact that February is the shortest month always gives me the impression we’re hurtling towards spring like an unstoppable freight train which is a particularly great feeling when you love spring as much as me.

And, every February, my compulsion to squeeze the last out of winter turns up, resulting in me drinking a lot of mulled red wine, feeling not-a-pinch guilty over indulging in hot chocolate every day if I so please, gulping down ten cups of tea a day at the office and knitting at the speed of a prisoner on the run in order to cast off and actually wear my woollen creations before the weather turns warm(ish).

….plus the fact that February is many people’s most-hated month kind of makes me love it all the more. Always rooting for the underdog. All this, a rather inane ramble to say: February, I like you.

{Your thoughts? Love or hate it?}