It was the clocks going back that gave me a nasty shock. The clock radio in our bedroom had been 35 minutes fast for about two years. Mrs Adams and I never put it right because, apparently, we couldn’t figure out how to do it.
In actual fact, neither of us could truthfully remember making the effort to change the time. It had just simply become established fact that the clock was too difficult to bother with. In the summer we simply added 35 minutes to get the correct time and in winter, took away 95 minutes.
When we waved goodbye to British summer time a few weeks ago, I tackled the clock and it took me all of 10 seconds set it to the correct time. Yes, 10 seconds. It was stupidly easy.
I got a slight pang of guilt. What about all the other jobs that I should be paying attention to, but don’t? Those jobs that are apparently too difficult, or there’s a reason not to do them or simply get forgotten about?
One in particular makes me feel guilty despite it having zero impact on all concerned. It involves Izzy and the cutlery she used when learning how to use a knife and fork.
In a graphic case of second child syndrome, Izzy learned to eat with an odd knife and fork set because we simply never got around to buying her matching cutlery. Needless to say, her older sister Helen had a matching set.
Each mealtime I’d pull out Izzy’s special cutlery and feel dreadful that, yet again, she was using a non-matching knife and fork. Of course, she simply got on with it without complaint and never even questioned why her knife and fork had different patterns which sort of suggests I should have found something proper to worry about.
Mowing the lawn is another classic. Summer has long passed us by and I simply can’t be bothered to do it any longer.
We arrived at a friends’ house the other day to find the husband out in the garden giving the lawn the “final cut of the year.” I kept my mouth shut, but I think ours received its final cut back in August.
Oh, and there’s the growing pile of items out in the front garden waiting to be taken to the local recycling centre. It’ll probably sit there for the next three months before I get around to it.
Then again, I’d better remember to take the small pile of junk in the back garden that also needs to go to the recycling centre. It’s been there longer than the pile in the front but you know how it is, these things just become a part of the furniture after a while, don’t they?
They do, don’t they? Please tell me I’m not on my own? Reassure me, tell me you also have a massive pile of jobs that never get done? I can’t be on my own. Or maybe I am?