Sunday morning and all across the land, people awoke bleary-eyed and grumbling. Not even Mothers, whose day it was, could bring themselves to be cheered. For they too had lost an hour.
A whole hour.
For on this Sunday just gone the clocks went forward. British Summer Time has arrived and, with it, we all lost an hour of sleep. Harrumph! we all cried and then slowly hauled ourselves out of bed.
But let us not overplay this, because it was a Sunday after all. And everyone knows that of all days, Sunday is the one that might just allow you to get away with losing an hour. It is the Monday afterwards when that lost hour comes back to bite you!
We are swim training at the moment. You may have gathered from my recent return to Running Buffet that there are some plans afoot. Or, more accurately, afloat. Our new-found enjoyment of wild swimming has led us to enter some swimming events this summer (more on that another day) and that, in turn, has meant that we have needed to step up our swimming. In a strange twist of logic, our plunge into the world of wild swimming has now seen us spending more time inside in an indoor pool. The reason is purely practical. It is too cold to spend too long in the sea and our training plan (such as it is) requires us to get some lengths under our belts. So it is off to the indoor pool before work for us and this means that our alarms start to trill at 5:30 in the morning.
Except, on this Monday, we all know that it was really 4:30. That lost hour was still playing havoc with my body clock and it refused to believe the evidence of the actual clock sat next to me on the bedside table. Convincing myself to get out of bed and get dressed, to get in a car and get to the pool, was no mean feat. It was not a pleasurable experience.
But we did, and we drove to the pool, and we swam our lengths, and then we headed to work (which, for me, meant returning home but not – repeat not – returning to bed). And it was on this return drive that I realised that, in actual fact, that lost hour was a treat. As I headed across Devon with the sun rising behind me and Dartmoor spread out in front, as the clouds took on a gentle pink and orange glow, it literally dawned on me that I would not have seen this at any other time. An hour later and the sunrise would not have played out across the sky before me.
I had been treated to a swim and a show and it was still before breakfast. And I guess that might – just might – be worth losing an hour over.
You can see more of my photos, including my photo-a-day challenge Something Wild, on my Instagram account.