Time Is Not a Thief

The clocks sprang forward Sunday last, putting an end to the delicious three weeks or so in which we here are an hour closer to our friends in the United States. My only reaction, as I wake up nominally later on Sunday morning, is to cheer loudly for the extra hour of light at the end of the day. And yet, for the past three weeks, as every year, my socials have been full of people wailing like banshees. On both sides of the fence.

I just don’t get it. The change is one lousy hour, and nobody stole it from you. You’ve probably stolen more hours staying up late playing games with yourself on a school night. I realise time is an illusion, a bourgeois construct, a mother et cetera, but it is not, in fact, a thief.

Not only do I not understand the wailing, I equally fail to understand those who wish to abolish the change, in either direction. Keeping either “winter” or “summer” time year-round changes nothing. It is precisely the shift that I relish. The promise, as the spring warms up, of an extra hour in which to go for a quiet walk. And in the autumn, the clear signal that it is OK to stay indoors and tuck into a nice cup of tea and a toasted crumpet (magari).

Yes, there are hand-wavy arguments for and against changing, and for and against keeping to winter or summer; they do not move me. The change moves me.

Also, I give thanks that only one clock in the house needs resetting by hand. In the olden days, when we needed light for harvest blah blah, that was the only thing I disliked about the change.