All change

Well, that’s bloody annoying.

When I came back here after a decade in London, I was very pleased to discover that while I was away a decision had been taken to change the dates the clocks changed: from the last weekend in March to the first weekend and from the last weekend in October to the first weekend in November. Any delay to my least favourite day of the year, the day when the gloom descends, much appreciated.

I thought I was going to get a bonus this year. The first weekend in November means the first full weekend, right? I mean, right? Which would of course mean next weekend, which would mean that the clocks wouldn’t have changed yet on my birthday next Saturday. Lovely. Wrong. Apparently it does not mean the first full weekend in November. It’s this weekend. Bollocks.

There are a surprising number of people who wax lyrical about the joy of getting an extra hour of sleep. Seems like pretty piss poor compensation for it being dark at 5pm for months. As for the morning people who are thrilled that it will be light at 7am for a while, fuck them. This is about me.

I don’t need the clocks going back another hour to confirm it’s time for another biannual change. (Do I mean “biannual”? I can never figure out whether that means twice a year – which is what I do mean – or every other year.)

Anyway, like digging the umbrella and chairs out to set up the “back room” in the spring and then dismantling it in the autumn, there is also the matter of seasonal bedding.

Time to put away the summer duvet and cover.

I bought this duvet cover after seeing an ad for it in the Observer colour supplement (wot we used to call the magazine in the Sunday paper). It’s been my summer duvet cover in every home I’ve had since the flat in Finchley Road. So perhaps 35 years? Blimey. It’s getting pretty thin, but I still love it.

Time to swap it today for the winter weightduvet and cover.

As much as I hate the days getting shorter, I have to say I do love the weight of this duvet and the flannel sheets. I don’t know what’s happened to flannel sheets. I used to hate their appearance in the winter when I was a kid. Now I love them.

Oh, and by the way, when I say this is a biannual (just checked the dictionary and it does mean twice a year) event I hasten to say the bedding does get washed more often. (Sadly, the winter bedding never gets that lovely dried-on-the-line smell.)

In other news…

A lovely walk with Joe yesterday in a park where, if you know where to look, you could spot a couple of fairy houses.

Joe may have smiled at me when I started kicking my feet through the carpet of fallen maple leaves like a seven-year-old kid, but he needed little encouragement to do the same.

The clocks may be changing, but life’s not so bad.

Oh, and sorry to hear about the death of Sean Connery. He may have been a bit of a prick in real life, but, my soft spot for Daniel Craig notwithstanding, nobody did it better.