The last time I was due to vote, there was a problem at the polling station. I was there early because I had to drive to Newcastle, but my name wasn't on the list. I had to kick up a fuss- and the polling officer phoned through and got my number so I could cast the vote. I think a lot of people in this area didn't vote that day- they didn't go back, and they didn't insist on voting there and then, like I did; I could not have left the building without using that right, and I guess the polling clerk could see that she was going to have to find a way to let me do it, so many thanks to her.
I am waiting for the rain to abate and I know it won't, and thinking about time.
What is time for you? A slender clock hand that gently sweeps it's pointer round the circumference of a circle, marking out twelve or twenty-four hours in sections of sixty, or a series of abrupt digital changes that measure a linear day? The latter smacks of zero hours contracts, 24-hour TV, pressure on time and a disrespect for the gentleness of the passing of time.
Numbers are changing, and as the numbers change the threat worsens!
This is atomic time, always correct and always more correct than the speed at which the world turns, because it is invented by Man, and Man knows how to measure correctly to the tiniest increment!
(that will be two billion pounds, please)
Meanwhile analogue clock potters through its day, the tip of its pointer butting up against a different number every five minutes, slicing a diurnal pie into edible sections. "I'll do that in two minutes time, at ten past four'', muses the human. The clock has to agree; the human is boss and the clock only whispers, it doesn't command.
You might have realised that I'm thinking of getting a new clock. I don't like telling the time by my phone because it gives me text messages, emails, the weather and all sorts of information when all I want to do is glance at where I am in the day.
And now it's time to vote (I'm for staying).