I don’t collect clocks and watches as a hobby and may never do so, but if I do, I’ll make it a point to ensure that my collection is in a non-DST country. On Saturday, I picked up a Daily Mirror in the tube and read about Pauline West of Southampton, who has about 2,500 clocks, if I am not mistaken, in her collection. Starting early morning today – she was going to have a tough time – setting those clocks back by an hour. (DST ended here an hour after midnight – today). So, she says, it is going to be a while before all the clocks start showing the right time.
Couldn’t find a link to an online piece of the article, sorry. (Didn’t search real hard, it didn’t show in the first few results of the Mirror or Google).
What mattered was – got an extra hour in bed on Sunday (not that we need DST to spend that extra hour on a Sunday). It is almost like Superman doing a swoosh-swoosh around the earth and spinning it back a bit to save Louis Lane. I like to think of it like that. Only, it isn’t as exciting. I wasn’t expecting anything to change really; I have acquiesced in the fact that this ‘time-travel’ is man-made and, in essence, not as exciting as going Back to the Future or its reverse equivalent.
Nothing, except the clock on my computer (and other DST-intelligent devices) changed numbers.
Talking of time, a reclusive blogger, recently quoted the Byrds, in the context of choice,
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
Regret, I guess, is what happens when we haven’t paid attention to these four lines, missed the signs, not recognised them, or just slept through (possibly that extra hour due to DST). Then again, interestingly, these lines still hold true even if you missed them the first time around; their meaning and raison d’etre is permanent and continuous.
Time, in that sense, isn’t about clocks, DST, or hours and minutes. It is about taking notice and knowing that it is time; or not.