twenty-five past midnight

I read an interesting tidbit of news on Huffpost.  'Should Trump lose' than he will have to be escorted out of the White House in January 'an irate pensioner having a toddler's fit'.  America's secret service has the plan to do this.  Hope stands strong in my heart that this will be so.  For now music will hold the rein in this house.

One of the down sides to the changes in the seasons are electricity cuts and getting the clocks to work too exact time.  Oven won't work if the clock doesn't work, electric clocks flicker on and off till exasperated you find the necessary leaflet that tells you which three buttons to hold down (that clock is broken now).  Than there is the 'satellite' clock up in the bedroom, which has given up the ghost, is not connected to electricity, or batteries? so has the satellite sailed away?

Then there is the old clock that chimes so beautifully, and which I can never marry up to chime the right time with the actual hour.  Time is arbitrary I suppose, the thought flowed through my head yesterday, whether my time was up, as each and every clock in the house told a different time.  There was a story, not sure if it was true, but a timekeeper, got on the newly developed Victorian trains and travelled through our land adjusting time to the exact nature we find today, it made life a lot simpler.

Or my grandson when he was young and we had brought him an analogue wristwatch for his birthday.  He looked at it with some surprise, then confessed he did not know how to use it as he was used to digital.

Life moves in mysterious ways clocks or presidents all have a time limit though ;)