Although it has now been repaired, for years the heirloom clock (given to DH’s grandfather after 40 years in the railway workshops) sat atop our piano, but didn’t go. For some reason the hands were usually set to read five past seven, and when asked the time, someone in the family (no prizes for guessing who….) would almost always point to the clock and say “It’s five past seven, isn’t it always?”.
Today I went to a lovely dinner with library colleagues, to celebrate a significant birthday for one of our number. Imagine my delight to realise the clock on the restaurant’s mantelpiece didn’t go, and the hands were set to …..