The definitive ranking of every month in a year, from worst to best
"Stole a calendar, got twelve months" - Yer Da.
At the risk of sounding like a bored Mum, this year is absolutely flying in. Yesterday it was January, now we're kissing mid August, every day hurtling closer towards the inevitable sweet release of death.
The months of the year are arranged in a particular order that the Month namers decided back at the beginning of time. Respect where it's due, they did a decent job, apart from February.
But which months are the absolute best, and which are the absolute worst? Relax, I've figured it out.
January is the absolute fucking worst month and I am prepared to go to court over this statement. Jesus what a shit show of a month. It's cold, Christmas is over and everyone is in a bad mood. How the fuck did Mr and Mrs Jones look at their beautiful baby and decide to call her January? Did they truly despise her that much? She's a terrific actress and a stunning woman. How very dare they attach such a putrid association into her name. Bastards. January is disgusting and I hate it. I want bad things to happen to the month of January.
The month of March is a symbol for an identity crisis if ever the world saw one. The weather is always shit, there's usually a sprinkling of snow lingering, prompting the entire country to say "SNOW? IN MARCH?" as if that's some kind of earth-shattering realisation the world has never seen before. March can fuck off. It's the second month to have 31 days, because why not have something terrible last a day longer than it should have to? If March was a person, it would be a combination of Piers Morgan and Mel Gibson. March is a verb and I refuse to acknowledge it as anything else.
Regardless of what age you are, the arrival of September fills you with an unshakeable feeling of existential dread. Fuck, school is coming back. Oh wait, you are 35 and worked through the entire summer without a break, school isn't coming for you, life is just continuing. Weather-wise, it's a shit show. There's still a tinge of heat in the air as the summer blows the rest of its remaining metaphorical load, meanwhile you're being defiantly brazen heading out without a jacket, only to feel the harmful health effects of it roughly four minutes after leaving the house. Hello head cold!
What an absolute nothing of a month. The brief high from October has dissipated as the already Christmas-decorated shops start to blare Noddy Holder akin to that of a Guantanamo torture chamber. It's too soon to get excited about the festivities, so you pace yourself by focusing on how fucking cold it is. It's freezing. At work, you take up smoking so you can nip outside for a bit of warm air (compared to the inhumane office temperature). The evenings are darker than an M. Night Shyamalan movie and you're comfort eating to soothe the relentless sadness within. Banter :)
Or as it should be known, January Part II. February, from its name, to its spelling, to its changing quantity of days, can fuck off. I'm about two more Februarys away from officially petitioning for it to be eradicated entirely. There is simply no need for this preposterous month. If February was a movie, it would be The Emoji Movie, terrible on paper and also terrible in practice. January is a tough enough month to get through without having a dry dick like February following it. Go away, February. Go away to heck.
Firstly, April Fools can fuck off. It's a day for people that comment cry laugh emojis under radio station memes on Facebook and share competitions to win a brand new Audi from a page that has blatantly got no affiliation with Audi whatsoever and is being run by a horny teen who's racking up the likes so he can sell the page to some shitty new blogger. April itself is always wet, it's still fairly cold and event-wise, it's boring. The only saving grace is that sometimes Easter falls in April so we all get to eat an absurd amount of chocolate to distract ourselves from the abyss we're all hurtling towards from birth.
As far as months go, not a bad guy. August gives us our final bank holiday until October and the weather is usually very decent. The smartest fuckers at work book their holidays for this month so they get to look forward to it all summer and have a decent tan until at least mid September. Summer is still in the air and people are in good spirits. Everyone's determined to get the final few goes out of the unnecessarily expensive BBQ they purchased in May, and it's still socially acceptable to drink and smoke your lungs out in a park while listening to the sweet melodies of DJ Calvin Harris off your phone speaker.
Now we're fucking talking. Things are absolutely cruising in June. The weather is mostly alright, you don't have to wear a coat and every day is a party. The only thing standing in the way of you having the perfect summer is work, but that's a minor technicality. You indulge yourself in an unsightly amount of holiday days, long weekends and working from home days because life is for fucking living. The office is a bit quieter now that Linda from accounts with the strong perfume has fucked off to Majorca for ten days, so you're off the hook for small talk. She even comes back with an office Toblerone, so it's not all bad news.
Here comes the sun (doodle doodle), alright it's not quite here yet, but it's on the way. The oven is preheating and the endless possibilities of summer are being planned. The only thing getting you through the previous four months was the promise of what's to come. This summer is going to be different, you're not going to piss it away this year. You're going travelling, consuming a large amount of cider and maybe even kissing someone on the mouth. May the 4th be with you, dorks.
Oh heck yes we've got some motherfucking Autumn here my dudes. There are leaves everywhere and you haven't got a decent pair of shoes undisturbed by the shite they bring with them, but the world finally feels cosy again. September is a transitional month, it can go either way, but October knows what it wants in life. It's the Brad Pitt in a rom-com of months. Outside smells really nice, it's a mixture of chimneys getting a good roasting and that indescribable Autumny smell. Also, HALLOWEEN! SWEETS! BONFIRES! FIREWORKS! SCARY MOVIES!
July is peak summer. Plans are in motion, the weather is warm and there are a few shitty festivals taking place. What joy! Perhaps a weekend break is in order because money is of no shortage in July, those are the rules, you simply do not look at your bank balance in July. Pimms has become your main source of hydration because they're all drinking it at Wimbledon so why shouldn't you, (out of a can, on the train, at midday). July is bangin'. There's been some summer before it and there will be some summer after it. Everything is fine. No harm can come to you in July. It is a safe space. You may never need a jacket again.
Yeah, obviously. Fucking Christmas, that's why. December is a magical month. It's finally acceptable to get into the festive spirit, whilst also panicking about the obligatory presents you must provide for those around you in exchange for utter shite that you never needed nor wanted. Your bullshit healthy eating attempts are cast asunder for one month only, as you panic buy more mince pies than is physically possible to fit in your car to last you through the holidays.
IT MIGHT EVEN SNOW but not during the week please because getting to work will be a nightmare BUT PREFERABLY AT THE WEEKEND OR SOME EVENING BUT PLEASE CLEAR BY THE MORNING OR EVEN ON CHRISTMAS DAY OH HECK YES!!!! December is indisputably the best month. Food, a few days off work, presents, family, cosy nights watching shitty festive movies and also more food. Let's give December a few extra days and sack off February completely because it is a shit show. Namaste.
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It's Episode 16 of The JOE Show where you can check out amazing Irish artists Declan Shalvey and Will Sliney, we're joined by the wonderful Wyvern Lingo for the Magic Cover AND they hop on to our sofa for a wee chat, while Dara and Kymann probably need you to call them a doctor because they're tackling Ireland's hottest chicken wings.
Plus, Justine Stafford heads off to Cavan to see if she can be crowned the Queen of Muff, while Shifts team up with the very Saintly Tony Cantwell...
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