The Whirligig of Tim

Well, having dreamt up that clever-clogs strapline, with the idea of writing something even cleverer about the great biannual clock-shifting fiasco, I find I don’t really have much to add to my rant of three years ago.  So just a point or three:

I’ve realised that the microwave’s clock doesn’t actually have anything to do with anything, including the microwave.  One down.  There are quite a few other clocks around here which don’t seem to serve any purpose either, so are not going to get reset.  In fact, I’ve only done two – the central heating, and my old-fashioned watch. 

Mostly, my life is not governed by clock time.  Sometimes, it is by other people’s, but that’s to be expected and is manageable.  I do need a source of other people’s time, but the watch does that.  So why do I get slightly anxious if I haven’t arranged my lunch by one o’clock? 

Adjusting body clocks (which I’ve just said I don’t need to do) is more difficult – I forced myself not to be hungry for an extra hour – but manageable.  Except for gintime.

Finally, what about that canard about ‘an extra hour’s sleep?’  Bollocks.  If it happened on a Wednesday, fair do’s.  But on Sunday morning, everyone just sleeps till they’re ready to get up, don’t they?