twenty-nine

i woke up at twenty to nine this morning, lazed around in bed for ten minutes (you know, that lovely bit of time between waking and moving that involves nothing but duvet appreciation), got up, went to the loo, then rolled downstairs for a hello-world-good-morning cup of coffee, just as the clock was chiming ten.

headspun to look at clock.

what are you doing, clock, i said.

dad, what is the clock doing, i said, why does it think it it ten o clock?

thoughts in head: have i gone mad did i black out did i actually just wee for an hour it was just quarter to nine definitely nine but i just heard the ten o clock bird (NB. our kitchen clock chimes with a different birdsong for each hour. they sound more like gary numan studio outtakes than birds).

dad, have i gone mad?

dad stands there with his thoughtful face on, hmmm, i wonder what could have happened, what could possibly explain this.

i sit at the kitchen table going thorugh every possible way i could have just not noticed an hour disappear. being quite a worrisome and imaginitive person, the list is long and somewhat unlikely. most of the situations involve injury and/or fatality.

dad stands there looking worried by his daughter's possible brain rupture/insanity/memory loss.

i sit at the kitchen table getting more and more frantic and confused.

dad stands there.

dad stands there, and waits a full five minutes before telling me the clocks went forward this morning, and i'm not mad or concussed, and that i have not been drugged in order to have my DNA harvested by a mad scientist to create a clone that would one day seek to kill me.

HO HO HO. evil git. he was so pleased with that joke.