August

The French are famed for their holiday-holic work ethic: the generous annual leave (at least for those in salaried positions), the additional "RTT" days given in compensation for working longer than a 35-hour week. During August there is a collective shutdown as the entire population disappears for 2 or 3 weeks to the Atlantic or Mediterranean coasts, including perhaps ferrying the children to the grandparents for a stretch. People are surprised when I don't take holiday - even though I have no children to dictate the rhythm.

As long as you're not trying to get anything done that requires manpower, or bureaucratic input, this time of year is the supreme laid-back summer experience. My working hours don't change much - I still do the language teaching (though my shiatsu presence at the retirement home is reduced). But the atmosphere is completely different: the roads are empty; there are no queues in the shops; the weather has settled into pleasantly warm and we can enjoy the garden, undisturbed by traffic noise of any kind.

Only mad dogs and Englishmen are abroad. Sensible Spaniards do the Spanish thing:

Juan "I never have a siesta" Sanchez

Their wives drive 20 minutes to find this:

Emma, with whom I've shared vision-boards, aikido classes, meals, chats - and now swims

La vie est belle...