Spring Forward

Did you all remember to put your clocks forward this weekend?  The Printemps household didn't.  I came downstairs this morning, thinking it was 8 o' clock, only to look outside and see Roy (builder) sitting dozing on a garden chair on our patio in the early morning sunshine.  He must have heard me pottering about in the kitchen and started to knock on the back door.  It was too late for me to hide.  I was still in my jimmy jams and dressing gown, no make up on and my hair was sticking up all over the place.  As I answered the door Roy said, "Where's Molly?  Oh, it is you."

He had driven here in his itsy bitsy teeny weeny Stuart Little red sports car to have a chat with Roberto about a job.  Roberto was still in bed snoring away, completely oblivious, so I ran upstairs and dragged him out of bed because I didn't want to listen to Roy geeking me out about what he could do on his computer (it's state-of-the-art apparently). 

They are still working on Shaz's barn conversion so they were discussing what they were going to get up to when Shaz goes on holiday.  The little mice will play (Roy = Stuart Little).  I overheard them talking about patio furniture so possibly they are planning an illicit BBQ in between laying the wood floor. 

Talking of putting the clocks forward reminds me of the time my late mother-in-law, Beatrice Printemps, put them forward, only she did it in the autumn when they should have gone back an hour.  We were going for Sunday dinner at 3pm and she phoned at 1pm in a panic and very annoyed saying "Where are you, it's 3 o' clock and the dinner will be ruined?"  I said "Beatrice, it's only 1 o' clock."  She replied "No, it's 3 o' clock.  I've been watching the news on TV and they've got it wrong as well."

Anyway, must dash and put the clocks forward before I forget.