The title is from one of my favourite Dr Who quotes. It's 'wibbly wobbly timey-wimey.'
Time is more wobbly than we allow for. At present we're in British Summer Time, and if you believe that you'll believe anything. On the blog, a time always pops up to tell you when I posted it and it has nothing to do with reality at all. It may as well be half past Mickey Mouse for all the sense it makes.
I would love to be a lark, up with the sunrise, but as I may have said before, I'm a night owl, or maybe a hedgehog, and I'm writing this at 00.35. That's ridiculous, I know, but for those of you in the US it's only about twenty-five to eight, so that's all right then. And do you realise that when you're getting out of bed in the morning, I will have been up for hours? Europe is either one hour ahead or one hour behind, but I forget which.
Sometimes, when the children were little and I was up in the night, I would think about the quiet army of people who were up and about. Some, like me, with very small people who hadn't worked out the night/sleep equation yet. Some caring for the ill and dying at home or in hospital, some in the emergency services. Night shift workers, night porters, lorry drivers and fishermen. Students slogging away to get the essay finished. Insomniacs, people too troubled to sleep, Samaritans on helplines. Labourers of love, who stay up late or rise up early to finish making the toy, the dress, the cake. And writers who work late at night because it's the time when nobody interrupts or wants anything, and besides, it's surprising how many writers are like me, with the body clock back to front.
Then there's that whole thing about half an hour being a short time to chat with a friend in a summer garden and a long time to wait for a train in winter. So The Doctor was right, as usual, it's all down to wibbly-wobbly tiney-wimey, and on that note I think I should dedicate a whole blog entry to Dr Who one day. It is now 00.53. Bring that man some fish fingers and custard.