Saturday, March 25, 2006
Where we're going we don't need roads...
We're going forward an hour this weekend. That means it's lighter in the mornings, or darker, or something. Anyway it will definitely mean there's a change in light at some point in your brand new reorganised Sunday.
What the Lionel Ritchie are they going to do with my hour anyway? Store it in some huge warehouse in Kent? Logistically it must be quite a tough operation thieving sixty minutes from each one of us ’victims’ around the country.
They justify it by reminding us that they give it back in October, deliver it at some stupid time in the morning. But they don’t always get the right hour back to the right person. October 2004, I got given the hour of a middle-aged lady from Staffordshire who was obsessed with Shane Ritchie. Even though I slept through the hour, I really shouldn't have had to have those Ritchie thoughts in my head affecting what would otherwise have been a dream about that dark haired girl from Watchdog.
Anyway, to solve this problem, I'm not going to let the bastards take my hour tomorrow. I'm going to hide it under my bed next to my self-respect. Of course I will not be letting onto anyone that I have done this, as technically it's time theft. This in Science-Fiction terms will most probably rip a whole in the fabric of space that can only be mended by me renouncing my stolen hour, whilst concurrently firing some miscellaneous white beam into the rift from my spaceship.
I don’t have a spaceship, it’s impractical for someone living in a small flat without a launch-pad. But I don’t think it’ll be much of problem being just the one hour behind everyone. They’ve go TV channels to cater for people in my position like E4 + 1 and More 4 + 1.
If the heat gets too much I’ll make use of the inevitable, soon to be announced ‘Hour Amnesty', where everyone can hand their stolen hours into their local police station anonymously. An HTV report will feature an interview with Bristol's Chief Superintendant stood next to a big table covered with people's handed-in hours neatly laid out in rows. He'll comment on what a big success it's been and how the streets of Bristol are safer with more people than ever living in the correct time-zone. A moderately interested reporter will nod his head and hand it back to the studio where they'll talk wheelie bins and non-league football until they're out of time again.