Good Evening Dear Friends
The last rays of sun from an altered time drift lazily though the windows of Myrtle House, each one bringing with it a waft of evensong as bells from the church ring to close the day. Normally, on walking in the environs, ones senses are assailed by the wonderful smells of a very quaint Victorian factory close by which manufactures Uncle Joe's Mint Balls and also by Allgates Brewery just a little further afield, very close by the church; the smells of peppermint and mashing hops is a curious blend and not one for the faint-hearted to imagine drinking but together in the nostrils they mix marvellously. Today though being Sunday, smells and sounds are at a minimum - as is activity, mine included.
|A traditional ceremony marking the start of Summer|
Such activity as there is began when I awoke and checked the time on my phone - 07.16 - and was immediately subject to the grief and anxiety that has attacked us mercilessly in such circumstances since the dawn of British Summer Time - which was, coincidentally enough I believe, 1916 (or 7.16 in the 12 hour clock! But I digress!) - and that anguished question was "What time is it really?" I honestly couldn't work out in the befuddled chambers of my brain exactly what time it possibly could be, so I took the bull by the horns and, grasping nettles as I went, strode manfully downstairs to the kitchen - still a novel experience after 8 years of living on one level!
My phone, being a bit posh and possessing more acumen than yours truly, had automatically updated itself and so 07.16 was the correct time - but what time was it really? Well, really it was 07.16 but to my poor aching body it was an hour earlier . . . Such matters concern not man's best friend however, and Sal was keen to be up and about and sniffing into things as we took to the highways and byways of a very silent town. Despite the undoubtedly restorative effects of tissane, marmalade and toast for breakfast, I don't feel as though this is a day that I have ever got to grips with; I was looking forward to watching the Australian Grand Prix on TV and yet found myself decidedly uninterested and barely able to keep from nodding - I blame William Willett who first made the proposal for adjusting the clocks in 1907 and kept on about it incessantly until his death in 1915 - the Government immediately decided it was a good thing after all and so in May 1916 they began buggering about with our clocks internal and external, within and without until the present day . . . or so I thought!
It seems that between 1968 and 1971 we permanently ran on British Standard Time which was an hour ahead of GMT - which I certainly do not remember happening though I was old enough to - and in the Second World War (1939-45), Britain adopted Double British Summer Time, with the clocks one hour ahead of Greenwich in winter and two hours ahead in summer. Fascinating, eh! Anyhow, the result in my books is that it's now nearly twelve hours since I first saw light of day and, quite honestly, I could lay me down to rest without another moment passing - the ravages of time and age and existence, ah me!
A brief passage of time and it's now approaching midnight; I had a modest repast and then found myself watching the Antiques Roadshow - I may collect my pension tomorrow! Anyhow, I hope you forgive this temporal ramble and spend what is left of the time before bed in a suitably affable frame of mind, thus hopefully ensuring the sweetest of dreams before the week begins again.
'til next time
Be Seeing You !
ps: The somewhat bizarre illustration is taken (without permission) from the amazing "Hooting Yard" blog by Frank Key ( http://hootingyard.org/) from 26th March 2006 and a post regarding BST