Confusion has reigned in our household today. Mr B and I have not known whether we are standing on our heads or our heels, whether we are coming or going. Let me explain...
Today is Tuesday, yesterday was Monday and the day before that was Sunday. (Hope you are with me so far?) On Sunday morning at precisely 1 a.m. the clocks went forward by one hour. (I’m not sure anyone actually
stays up till 1 a.m. in order to turn their clocks forward or back at the precise strike of one of the clock. Please let me know if you do.) We happened to be staying with the Youngest of the Darling Daughters, so, aside from our watches, we didn’t have
to attend to any clocks on the day in question. It would be impolite in the extreme to tamper with other people’s clocks, now wouldn’t it? Incidentally, we spent the whole of Sunday saying “it’s really six o’clock”
or “it’s actually ten o’clock” – was it the same for you?
However, by the time Mr B and I came home yesterday, the whole
Turning The Clocks Forward palaver had been and gone, so it was some considerable time before we actually remembered that we still had to deal with all the various time-pieces in our own house. When we did remember, it’s fair to say that we didn’t
do the job properly. So, when I woke up this morning, the clock on my side of the bed said it was 6.56 a.m. while the clock on the other side of the bed informed me it was 7.49 a.m. On the radio, presenter Neil Pringle was warming up towards introducing the
News. But was it the News at Seven? Or the News at Eight? I decided to believe the clock on my side of the bed, on the basis that this meant I could doze for a bit longer, with complete impunity, before Mr B arrived with a morning cup of coffee to enquire:
“Are you getting up at all today?”
That wasn’t the end of the confusion. Just to recap a little: yesterday was Monday but it felt like a Sunday.
This is because we always travel home from our daughter’s house on a Sunday. Hence, yesterday felt like a Sunday, so today feels like Monday. So much so that I did my washing. Which only perpetuated the Monday Morning feeling. The Monday Morning
Feeling, incidentally, lasted an hour longer than it should have done, owing to the fact that the kitchen clock, having also escaped our attention, was an hour behind where it should have been.
All this might not have mattered so much but Tuesday afternoon is our Cribbage Group – and if we’d turned up tomorrow, instead of today, believing it to be Tuesday, instead of Wednesday (please keep up!) then (i)
there would have been nobody for us to play with and (ii) we would have missed out on Delia’s totally delicious chocolate biscuits.
Fortunately Mr B collected
his daily newspaper from which we have been able to confirm, without a shadow of doubt, that today is, indeed, Tuesday. So at 1.45 p.m. we set off to Cribbage Group in the car congratulating ourselves that we were now back on track. That is, till we
looked at the clock in the car and discovered that it was only 11.45 a.m. Which might have caused a major meltdown except that Mr B remembered, just in time (if you’ll excuse the pun) that in adjusting the clock in the car he had somehow forgotten that
we had to put the clocks forward an hour and had put this particular clock back by an hour.
It’s easily done, you know. Especially on a Tuesday which
feels like a Monday, when none of the clocks in the house (or car) will give you the (correct) time of day.
We are off on an outing with our Questers Group
tomorrow. We are visiting a Roman Villa and have been promised a guided tour followed by a slice of home-made cake with our tea or coffee in the cafe. I have emailed the couple to whom we are giving a lift to assure them that we will pick them up, as
previously arranged, at 10 o’clock sharp tomorrow morning.
Provided tomorrow is actually Wednesday...