The weather may not be that great, but there are a lot of smiley faces around at the moment. The kids are back to school on Monday.

For seven weeks the lives of both working parents and their employers have been dictated by the younger generation, home for the summer holidays and, as always, bored because "there's nothing to do".

I'm not going to preach here and say that my generation was any different, especially when I got to that age when boys and motorbikes were proving a bigger attraction than Champion the Wonder Horse or the annual holiday at Goodrington Sands.

At 14, I was beginning to get opinions and no pastime was ever acceptable when it was suggested by somebody else. It seemed that overnight I had turned into that many faceted monster – the teenager.

My parents were square and really cruel to me – or at least that was my complaint at the time. Now I cringe when I think of how hard they saved for that annual holiday and how ungrateful I was.

Remembering those far-off days led me to thinking about how our memories rearrange what we remember or totally forget some small but interesting detail.

A short while ago I was discussing my schooldays with my first year geography teacher, David Jones.

He reminded me that we used to share books in school. Our teachers' main objective was getting us through the exams and my goodness, didn't they work hard at it! David passed away shortly after that lovely lunch with him and his wife, Molly. He's someone I'll always remember as very dedicated and very kindly.

Another old friend also contacted me recently. She and her husband used to keep the Northend Inn, near Bath. That too brought back memories, principally of her very good nature along with a vivid recollection of her husband dressed in a very short kilt on New Year's Eve.

Now I was talking about August and the kids going back to school wasn't I? Yes, of course I was.

August is not my favourite month though for a child – any child – it has to be the high spot of the year with the possible exception of December.

August as an adult seems to stand still. Because of people going on holiday, business seems to grind to a halt, with the exception of ice cream sellers.

Most years I sit around twiddling my thumbs, waiting for something interesting to happen. Nothing happens in August. However, this year I took a wander around the Roman Baths. It was wonderful. It has atmosphere. It also has naked Romans projected on to the walls – all in the interests of authenticity of course.

I'm a sucker for that kind of stuff. I fully admit I would love to be a time traveller, sampling how life was back then.

Bath has made the effort to throw in a little dedicated colour – including two stonemasons. Didn't catch your names, lads, but you were entertaining. I've passed on your comments about Germania and the fact that the barbarians live north of the Rhine and the "civitas" are to the south to my German friend Ulrike.

She lives to the north of the Rhine but is on a mission to meet you on her next trip – sometime in April of next year. I assure you she will not be wielding an axe! Honest!

So I had my own little uplift in August and now we're in September, a favourite month when I'm surrounded by the golds, reds and oranges of the Wye Valley in the fall.

And it won't be boring. I'm sure of it.