You (my lonely single reader) may have noticed that I have been slacking off the blogging a bit of late. This is partly to do with suddenly being overcome with the urge to buy a four-bedroom house on Blythe Hill (more of which later) but also has a lot to do with the annual onset of Ye Olde Britishe Summer Tyme.
One moment I am getting up with the first song of the lark and happily ambling to work with the sun rising beautifully in a red & orange panorama behind Tower Bridge then, at the whim of some (plainly drunk) politicians in 1916, I am once again stumbling to work in the middle of the night.
There seems to be a whole load of BST-justifying blather referencing (a) farmers, (b) the Scottish and (c) Scottish farmers but frankly the sooner we get with Central European Time, the better. Or I could move to Belgium*.
I was also wondering - if you were born in the winter, then lost an hour the next March, then lived your life in the usual way but sadly died before you had the chance to gain it back again, would you be due an hour back in some way? Denial-of-allocated-time-on-earth class action anyone? I shall have another large glass of very good Argentinian Malbec and work on that theory...
* obviously this is not an option