Daylight Robbery

Saturday

We put the clocks on an hour, well before bedtime. We’re getting to that sort of age, and we wouldn’t want to miss it, or do it twice. Hence the cautious approach, although since we remember to do it at all we conclude that we must still be enjoying moderate mental health. 

Sunday

Evidence of moderate mental health is immediately confounded in my case by the onset of vernal affective disorder, which is the technical name for the sagging sensation one gets when realising that soon it will be time to mow the lawn, to do the watering, to eat lettuce, to not eat soup for six months, to have to go for long walks, to unplug things in case it thunders, to not be able to wear one’s favourite pullover, to eat more lettuce, and to say “the evenings are starting to pull out” - thus sounding worryingly like one’s parents.

Monday

A fine morning. If the weather forecast is to be believed (sad that meteorology is still a faith-based system rather than an exact science), this will be the best day of the week. So, a walk in the park. Alas, no daffodils, no blossom, just the scraggy remnants of flattened crocuses and women gabbing into their phones while their offspring squeal delightedly at the sight of alfresco free range dog emptying. Later on I start to degroove the patio. Yes, since you asked, with a de-groover, though not all night long, baby. Daylight de-grooving only, not the late lamented Dud and Pete bag-based technique. A proper wooden de-groover. Made in England. The best.

Tuesday

Microsoft Word is having a good day. I copy some text into a new document and - having spent half an hour chasing two thirds of a page of blank space that’s appeared out of nowhere but keeps popping up somewhere else every time I move it - I realise eventually (silly me) that Word wants to start the document at page 49. Like most new documents do, obviously. Once I fix this, things are much better. Google are having a good day too. I use the world’s most popular search engine to look for Nepalese restaurants in Staines, in what used to be Middlesex. Google finds me approximately 63,000 of them, in just 0.51 seconds. I notice that the second one listed is actually in Hounslow, and that according to the census the population of Staines was in 2011 a mere 18,484, but no matter, it’s a technologically impressive feat. Not just “about half a second” but 0.51 seconds. Wow, that is precise.

Wednesday

Microsoft Word is having an even better day. I run the spellchecker across the aforementioned document and it stumbles over the adjective “Hitlerian”, highlights it in red as a possible misspelling, and suggests an alternative. Hitler Ian. Of course, that’s what I meant. Ian Hitler, yes, I can believe he’s a Microsoft employee, best buddy with Hiram H. Himmler, Gary Goering and Wayne Doughballs. Though probably not Adolf Zuckerberg.

Thursday

I attempt to book a hotel – one of a well-known American-owned chain – near Liverpool. Before I can submit my requirements, up pops a screen suggesting that I might be interested in staying at a hotel in Hicksville, Missouri. I switch to another website. Oh, the power of advertising.

Good Friday

I continue de-grooving, with my lo-tech de-groover that does what I alone want it to do, as I push it purposefully along the moss-tinged grooves of my groovy patio. I’m so glad that my de-groover is so technologically advanced, indeed so smart, so intelligent, that it doesn’t ask me if I’d like to de-groove a patio in Zanesville, Ohio, instead. Or check on my serum potassium levels, or order me a pizza, or tell me that “de-groover” isn’t in its dictionary, or address me chummily by my first name and request some feedback on the quality of my experience today. 

Saturday

Well, here we are. It’s raining again. My faith in weather forecasting is restored – although since it’s a bank holiday weekend it’s not exactly difficult to get that one right, is it. I run the spellchecker across this blog piece, before posting it, and am once again reminded of the continued existence of Ian Hitler.