Just who owns the extra hour?

One of the joys/strains (delete as appropriate) of being a resident celebrity of our market town of Sprodlington is that I am often invited to the townsfolk’ 18th/21st/Engagement/Wedding/ Wake (delete as appropriate)

Last night,  The Cross Keys hosted Amy Whitehall’s 18th Birthday.   I have known the Whitehall family for many many years; her Grandfather “Miggs” (I have never really understood why he is called that) once owned a small Post Office up at the top-end of Dukes Road, until it closed about five years ago.   Since then Miggs has enjoyed his retirement and fishes for most of his day time, and avoids his wife Jean for most of the evenings.  I’m not sure whether Miggs invited me or Amy to be honest – the only time Amy has been in the shop was to buy some tattoo stickers I had on the counter. (I’m always on the hunt for extra impulse purchase opportunities).

The evening was typical enough for an 18th: the mothers and aunts wore make up which once  looked better in the 1985 Avon catalogues from where  they were purchased.  The fumes from the distilled perfume made many an eye water.  Uncles, brothers and  cousins  competed for best Sovereign ring and gel-back look combination.  The only difference between them all was ear-ring combination; left, right or both.  One young lad had holes so big you could poke your fingers right through. I imagine that Father’s Day in this family causes total confusion.

The Cross Keys stays open until 2am on a Friday and Saturday night although most leave at 1:30 for final scraps at the Donar Kebab shop at the bottom end of town.  Last night, or more accurately this morning, there was total confusion.

At 1:55am  the DJ,  Amy’s “Uncle Dave” started to slow things down.  We had done “High Ho Silver-Lining” and a Robin Williams number – the “Entertainment” one.   Dave started to play “New York, New York” by Frank.

“Woah, woah, woah !  We’re not going anywhere yet!” shouted Amy’s brother Lee having grabbed the microphone.  “The clocks have gone back and its only 1am.

The crowd cheered, although I imagine 80 percent had no idea why or for what they were cheering.  Dave pressed the pause button and looked over at the bar for clarification. It was clear that he hadn’t even realised that the clocks were changing.   There was a hush as all eyes fixed on Steve Trimble who was behind the bar.

“We clear out at 2am folks” he said.  “Just before the clocks turn back.”

“Bollocks” said Lee.  “The clocks have already gone back. Google it someone!”

“Lee, we are shutting at 2am and that’s it mate!”  Steve replied, realising that he had no allies in the pub, apart from  the cheap-looking push up bra’d bar girls who looked shattered.  They always did.

“The clocks go back at 2am, Lee”  someone shouted from the back of the room.

“What time is it now?”

“2:01am, I mean 1:01 am.  We’ve got another hour!”  hollered the voice from the back of the room.

“Hang on there now.”  DJ Uncle Dave barked, having grabbed control of his microphone again.  “I don’t know what to play, I’m at the end of my play-list.”

“Just play the last hour again Dave” the voice shouted.  “No one was listening anyway”

“Wanker!” barked DJ Uncle Dave.

Miggs and I gave each other a look .  It was time to leave.

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