Why do the clocks have to go back?

Posted Monday 27th October 2014   By Ericka Waller

So I’ve been doing some (sleep-deprived) research and I cannot find a good argument for the clocks changing. Apparently it makes for ‘happier postmen, happier farmers, safer roads and a more united Scotland’.

Well I beg to bloody differ, but didn’t Scotland recently try and separate themselves? My postman is a moody goth who hates sunshine, dogs and parcels. I don’t know a farmer, or anyone who knows a farmer, which tells me how important farmers are in the overall debate.

I do know lots of sleep-deprived parents though. I am one of them.

I cannot tell you how much I was looking forward to a half-term break after two months of school runs and settling Thing-two into Reception. I had to drag them out of bed on school morning, after three wake-up calls and a pint of tea. They cried as they got dressed for ten more minutes in bed, poor tired lambs.

I’ve been rubbing my hands with glee at the thought of not having to get up this week. Sleeping in, tea and toast in bed, watching films, followed by another snooze. I washed our onesies in preparation. But thanks to the bastard clocks going back, my half-term started at 6am with three excitable children jumping up and down on my bed, hitting one another with heavy books and blowing recorders that a sadist was handing out free at the Car Boot sale yesterday.

I hope all the farmers and postmen and Scots are happy, because I’m bloody not. As for safer roads, I am sure sleep-deprived parents make up a large proportion of traffic. Surely us incompetent 4×4 women drivers should  be given a slight chance at keeping our no claims?

As I’m writing this my children are having a Lego party. It’s where they tip all the Lego out then go and play with something else. It’s 8.32am. We’ve already had breakfast, walked the dog and drawn pictures. Normally, I am still trying to get them out of bed.

Instead of spending the day in an all-in-one spotted fleece, I am going to have to get dressed, make a packed lunch and take them to ‘Paradise Park’. Do not be fooled by the name. It involves a smelly-soft play,  a small train ride and overpriced coffee. I think I’d prefer the poxy school run.

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