Back in time...

I don't like the way the clock goes back at 2.00 in the morning.  What is the point of having an extra hour if you are asleep.  I think we should all put our clocks back at around 4.00pm, and just do something wonderful in those free 60 minutes.  I sort of tried this yesterday afternoon, and stuck my favourite film on.  West Side Story...... it was mildly spoiled by the husband's rendition of Maria whilst eating a packet of the Aldi equivalent to Pickled Onion Monster Munch, but as I haven't seen him for nine days, I did a Frozen, and let it go.

We managed to have the day I imagined yesterday.  No lay in naturally, as the husband, having only returned from France on Saturday, was two hours behind, so was up and at 'em at 7.00, out on the drive with his mucky bike and the pressure washer.  Once that was done, we decided to walk to a pub a couple of miles away, have a roast and then walk back.  When I asked the husband how long the walk would take, he replied 'between one and a half to two hours'.  

I had booked a table at 12.00 (really 1.00) as I had worked out that by 5.00 it would probably be dark.  On the odd occasion, the husband has been known to get his bearings wrong (a memorable drive to Brighton via Bournemouth springs to mind) and walking back through the woods at dusk with the dogs didn't fill me with confidence.  

So we set off at 10.00.  Now he had misjudged one of two things.  Either the walk was shorter than he thought, or my little legs could move faster than anticipated.  Either way, we arrived at the pub at 11.15.  Sitting on the bench outside, waiting for the pub to open at 12.00, at least seven cars drove past us, every one of their occupants looking at us as if to say, 'Look at those two numpties who forgot to put their bloody clocks back'.

They finally let us in at two minutes past twelve, but were completely forgiven after the best Sunday lunch I've had for a long time.  Followed by naughty puds, it was touch and go whether we'd have to get a taxi back, but we eventually paid the bill and headed home.  Why is it that the walk back always seems longer than the return journey.

I said to the husband that the journey there seemed quicker because the promise of lunch kept me going.  Mind you, about half an hour from home, I could hear the sofa calling me.

'Mrs Bird.......Mrs Bird......where are you?'

Once I hit the sofa, the husband brought me a cup of tea, and we both had a little snoozle.

I love having him home...