It was when I was thinking about altering clocks – ‘the television and our phones will alter automatically,’ I thought. ‘It’s only the microwave and the bedside clock … oh, bugger. Oh buggering bugger. Oh fuckety buggering ….’ … you get the picture. I continued to swear for several minutes, to the Sage’s amusement, while I put my coat on and fished out some keys. He offered to come down to the church with me, but I’m not scared of the dark nor the churchyard and was quite okay to go alone.
I’d altered the time clock for the church heating earlier in the week, but did I take the clock change into account? Like hell I did. My only consolation is that I remembered it at 9.15 pm and not around 3 am tomorrow, when getting up and shambling down the road would have been a serious test of my willpower.
The Sage had a snifter waiting for me when I got home. That is, a wee dram. Oh darlings, a glass of whisky.
Seriously, I hate the biannual clock change. Dearly as I love Scotland and the Scots, I want independence for England and Wales over this.
That reminds me of the time, soon after Al was born, when my mother (whose two children were born five and a half years apart) asked if I intended to continue to have biannual babies? Honestly, it wouldn’t be as nature intended. To be fair, she did realise her mistake when I gave her a funny look. That is, I laughed.