Time is of the essence

It’s always a strange weekend when the clocks change. I am working with a different colleague at the moment, which means a change of practice. Normally we forget the hour change for the morning milking and then lose the extra hour during the day. One way is use it in a postprandial nap after lunch in front of a roaring fire! We have struck a compromise by starting half and hour later especially as the high yielding group are bursting with milk as it is, so they would benefit from this regime. After a quick tea, a wash and brush up and it’s off to the village hall for a concert by Colla Voce – a local quartet. They were excellent, performing songs from the shows i.e. Les Miserables, The King and I, plus others like ‘On the street where you live’. This had been organised to help raise funds for the ‘new hall’.
The population of the village has changed little in the last 140 years particularly as there were a lot of properties on the side of the hill with large families in them. At one time there were two blacksmiths, two shops, two pubs, a garage and one of the pubs, which also sold petrol. A gallon for the car and a pint for the driver! The post office had once been in the blacksmith’s shop until there was a fire. You might say that ‘hotmail’ started in Marton. The post office is now under threat in the remaining shop – there seems to be some suggestion that we might lose it in the cutbacks and possibly the shop if all goes ahead. Any good gardener would tell you that growth would be impossible if roots are pruned. Our more elderly residents, some of who are unable to drive, would have to go by bus to Chirbury. This is the penultimate stop on the Montgomery route so anyone travelling to the shop would only 20 minutes or so until the bus returned. The thought of our senior citizens hanging about in Chirbury would set a bad example to the youngsters in that village. The mind boggles – OAP hoodies!
Sunday morning, milking completed, breakfast done and time to get ready for church. We are to give a lift to the preacher at 9.45. The extra ½ hour has come in handy but still a little pressed for time. D shouts up the stairs “have you seen my cheque book?” There seems desperation rather than hope in her voice. For once I do. D is stunned when I produce the book of money vouchers. I am euphoric as this is a rare occurrence – I will have to note this day on the calendar! Usually the boot is on the other foot. Recently I was looking for a ‘phone number left on a piece of paper the size of a stamp on the desk by the phone. D was called in to find it after I spent quite some time looking for it. She produced it in a trice. I was admitting this fact to the man on the other end of the line and adding, “she’s a real treasure you know”. Ben said “ theym useful things to ‘av, but yo munna praise ‘em up too much”. “Rule with an iron rod”, I heard myself saying. All that was expressed from the kitchen was – PAH!
My euphoria is short lived when I meekly ask D “have you seen my shoes”.