Hour

Easter Monday. I feel worn out, although seemingly for no particular reason, having had a fairly uneventful weekend. Perhaps it is a consequence of the initial rushing around stocking the fridge with enough food to keep me going while the shops are shut (which nowadays amounts to a couple of hours at most over the whole weekend, but seeing there was a chance my offspring would appear for a meal or two, it seemed justified to invest in a substantial quantity of emergency supplies). Or perhaps it was the hours spent each day in a cold and draughty church furnished with notably unforgiving wooden pews. Either way, I have been left feeling listless and lethargic, or at least marginally more so than usual.

At least today I managed to get out for a moderately energetic walk, having been pinned indoors yesterday by unpredictable gales and showers which swept across the heavens all day long as Storm Katie wreaked havoc around the country. (Again, they really need to find more intimidating names for these storms, but no matter.) Yesterday started badly by my not realising that the clocks had gone forward overnight, or, to be more accurate, everyone's clocks apart from my own. That rather threw into disarray all my plans for the day. Even granted that I didn't have all that many plans (mainly ones around when to put the lamb in the oven), it took me a while to recover from the generally uneasy feeling that I had lost something important (i.e., an hour of my life) without any prior warning. Of course, the Sunday newspaper politely inquired whether I had remembered to put my clocks forward, but by then it was too late. They ought to advertise these things more widely the day before. To tell the truth, it did appear on the calendar on my phone and the one hanging on the dining-room wall, but you don't necessarily look at these every day. Not at all the small print, at any rate.