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"April is the cruellest month", said the poet T. S. Eliot in The Waste Land. I can only say that he was very, very wrong. The title of the cruelest month can go easily to January, when the winter break and the rain sets in, and most loathsome and reprehensible of all, the transfer season, a hellish month as dark, dreary, and unenlightening as a typical Robert Smith song (sorry, Elaine)Â kicks off.