There should be a simple remedy to this minor dilemma. In fact, I could always look at my watch, but what I want these days is comfort, and not to have to change my habits.
So the solution seemed simple: to buy another clock and put it down that end of the kitchen.
But where do you buy clocks? So far I have had no luck. Watch suppliers do not stock small clocks. Two dollars shops do sell clocks, but they are too large for my purposes. The all-purpose department stores like Target and Big W (well, I have yet to get to a Big W) have nothing suitable. I am perplexed and feel somewhat put out. It seems to be a simple enough need, but so far is consuming more time that it would warrant. The spare clock radio I bought for Dr P was remarkably recalcitrant when it came to setting the date and time. It did not seem to matter how often and conscientiously I followed the instruction manual, the clock radio resolutely refused to do as it was told. Instead I felt like an idiot, and a completely defeated idiot to boot. Eventually I just gave up. Dr P, I hasten to add, was only a little bit better at such minor technological problems. Not that this memory is any consolation.
Never mind, the children are coming soon, and I will ask them to have a go. They all know their parent is technologically challenged.
My mind flickers on and off, seeking to suggest another store which might, just might, have a small clock. All I want is a small clock, with nice clear numerals. Is this too much to ask? It seems so. Why is it that seemingly small tasks require totally disproportionate amounts of time? And still are not accomplished.
When I have conquered this trifling difficulty, I might move on to finding a radio on which I can preset stations, instead of having to tune it manually. The reason I want this is that the ABC, in the mornings, until 9 am, has a most irritating, gushing, patronising and folksy announcer, who tells you what the Guest Weather is in Timbuktu, Woop Woop and other places I care little about, and who presents puerile summaries of opera plots and refers to parents as mums and dad: eg Aida's Dad pops up to tell her she must discover and reveal to him the route the enemy army will follow in the forthcoming battle. What is wrong with the word 'father'? I ask. I would rather have an adult vocabulary being used on the national broadcaster, thank you very much, and rather resent this patronising blabbermouth inflicting what increasingly resembles verbal diarrhoea over the hapless airwaves. She makes me shout at her. I just want to be able to switch her off and transfer to the other station. I would use this other station more regularly than I do, but for the fact that the reception is somewhat erratic and crackly.
How I suffer! Grrrr!