Open Writing

So I’ve just switched on my computer and been greeted by an announcement that its clock has been automatically shifted forwards to British Summer Time.

Unfortunately I was ahead of the machine. I’d already moved the clock forward an hour - so now I’ve had to shift it back again.

Bad enough remembering whether the clock should be moved forwards or backwards at the start of BST without a machine throwing in its two-penn’orth to add to the confusion.

I suppose there are thousands of folk who are temporarily out of time-synch with the rest of Britain every Spring and Autumn when the clocks change.

There is a neat little memory aid as to whether one should be gaining or losing time.

* SPRING forward, FALL back.

That’s using the word Fall as the Americans use it, meaning leaf-fall, or Autumn.

A leader in the august Times newspaper recommended last week that Britain should escape from the tyranny of Greenwich Mean Time by putting the clocks forward for an hour at the start of British Summer Time and leaving them there for…well for the rest of time.

It listed some of the benefits of an extra hour of evening daylight.

* Happier children.

* Safer roads.

* A huge saving in energy costs.

“Britain’s timekeeping is not only an anachronism, but an economic handicap too,’’ declared the leader writer.

The point being made was that Britain should permanently come into line with the rest of European time.

“For business as well as pleasure,’’ thundered the Times, “the clocks should go forward, and stay where Britain belongs: in a modern and increasingly globalised world.’’

A well-argued case, of course. What else would you expect from The Times. But it left me thinking that I too may be something of an anachronism.

My 12-month body rhythm is happily in tune with long, dark nights.

Oh I welcome Spring, and the hazy, lazy days of summer. Right now, daffodils are nodding their golden heads in our garden, obviously expressing their approval of the arrival of long, light evenings.

And I’m nodding approvingly with them - even if I am soon going to have to crank up the lawn mower to tackle the all-too-tangled lawn which the daffodils surround.

My heart also lifts with the soaring, singing skylarks when I stroll on a nearby country lane.

Winter is in retreat. Hurrah for warmer, balmier days.

Come Autumn though, when it’s time to put the clocks back an hour, I will be ready for long dark nights, cosy fires, cooked suppers and a pile of good books demanding to be read.

British Summer Time adds savour to life in these islands. It sharpens the contrast between life in the streets, life in society, and the inner life, of family, and private thought.

I’m looking forwards to sitting on a Summery river bank, a salmon-and-cucumber sandwich in one hand, a glass of Chablis in the other. Of hearing the sound of bat on ball as the evening shadows reach out towards a local cricket pavilion.

But I also relish the prospect of the curtains being closed at 4 pm on an icy evening, of home-made chicken pie, then a long luxurious evening with the characters in Mr Dickens’s Bleak House.

Let those European business men have their bland same-time-year-round existence.

I’m for keeping Spring forward, Fall back.