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Hands of time

Time it seems, has no time to waste, and the harder we try to slow things down, the faster it tends to go. Time we might say is always a fitting subject and one that is perfect for this blog. Not only is time one of the greatest benefactors, it has bared witness to all that is strange, magic and enigmatic, and sometimes just plain old daft. All of which, might describe that someone in your life, someone who is a little ”different”, someone a bit like Prince.

The clock, symbolic of many things that relate to my father, not just getting things done on time, but his incessant need to have everything run to the exact minute of every hour, of every day. If you say you are going to be there at a certain time, you better be there at that precise moment, or that is that.

“You can fuck off now, I’ve got other things to do”. Prince

But the clock is not only symbolic of his nature and obsessive behaviour, it is also the pinnacle representative of all his obscure collections. Besides his bird boxes, key rings, badges, coins, tools, sheds, jackets, and even fridges… the clock stands the tallest among his accumulation.

My mother, infuriated by his habit recently told me, “I wonder where your father gets this fascination for clocks. They are everywhere, in every room. In some rooms there are three. All I hear is ticking. He gave Jac (his grandson) a clock for his room last night. Oh, that had to go to bed with him then, didn’t it, he loved it”.

We may or may not know where this obsession started or what forges such a fascination, but time, although told, is often just as telling.


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