Wednesday, 5 June 2013

Time clock of the heart

Some things confuse me, some things confuse other people.  Time for example.

On The Cat's Mother's side of the family, time is a mystery which will never be understood.  Her sister, Mrs Muffin, has never knowingly been anything less than half an hour late for anything (except this weekend when I was forced, arm twisted to sit through yet another viewing of The Lord Of The Rings...this time for the benefit of the young Muffins - they arrived two minutes early, whilst I was still working).

The Cat is always late by varying degrees, and when The Boy and I who are both sticklers for time get tetchy because we're being made late, gets really irritated.  I've lost count of the time we've heard her say something along the lines of "Oh, so when you said we had to be there by seven, you didn't mean we were leaving at 7?"  Fortunately the school journey never needs to be made again.  When we lived almost next door to the school The Boy, who could walk there, would leave home at 7.45 in the morning.  Since we started living some miles away, and a car was required to get them there, the journey generally starts some twenty minutes later.  There have been tears.  I'm glad it's all over.

The Cat's Mother, is generally pretty good at getting ready on time, but then will go and spoil it all by finding half a dozen things that can be done before we leave to go anywhere for any reason.  If we're having a meal before we go to the theatre or cinema, all will go well until an extra pudding, an extra coffee, a trip to the loo is thrown in....we have been known to be running down the aisle as the curtains are going up.

So there's an irreconcilable difference in our understanding of time.

I had an e-mail from Southwark Playhouse today that started "Southwark Playhouse mk. III is officially open! Our new bar is easy to find and open from 11am to 12pm Monday to Saturday."

Now correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that mean it is open for precisely one hour?  Eleven in the morning until midday.  I realise that there is some debate about this, but one minute past midday is 12.01pm, so logically 12pm is midday.  Now you may say I'm just being picky, and deliberately obtuse, but now the sun has come out, I don't want to turn up at lunchtime and find the doors locked. Please don't ever accuse me of picking a fight for the sake of picking a fight....

Doing time is another matter.

I never forget how lucky I am to be working in the middle of London, and actually one of the most diverse and dynamic parts of central London.  It's a mix of the ancient and the modern; the rich and the poor.  If I wanted to (and I wish I had the time to) I could spend hours exploring...but usually I just wander out, grab a sandwich and then head back to my desk.  It's a bad habit.  Today, though was slightly different.  As I wandered, I went past Southwark Crown Court...there was a large crowd, and loads of TV cameras and photographers.  I paused just long enough to see Rebecca Brooks come out.  She looked pretty pleased with herself, which is strange because the consensus in the crowd seemed to be that she should be doing time.  I took a picture, but I was a little way away...

Elsewhere, the BBC seems a little confused.  Here are the opening two paragraphs of a story I read on the news site

Al-Rahma Islamic Centre destroyed in 'racist attack'

An Islamic centre in north London has been destroyed by a fire in an apparent racially motivated attack.

It is not yet known whether the Al-Rahma Islamic Centre, which is listed as a mosque, was set alight deliberately in the early hours.

I'd say that was a somewhat inflammatory headline...