The Changing of the Clocks and The Missing Hour on the Wireless Or: British Summer Time My Arse

Well those buggers in Greenwich decided to fiddle with the clocks as they do biannually just to mess with my head (alright, that might not be the main reason but it works anyway) and now I find myself waking up late and not being able to get to sleep early enough. Damn you time, you manmade concept, you.

Last night I found myself getting progressively more awake as the night drew on. I had slept in for some time after an exceedingly long day travelling to Bath to watch the game against Harlequins and back on Saturday. It was entirely worth it though, as Bath grabbed a convincing three try victory with Olly Barkley lining up alongside Butch James for the first time this season and spawned one of the greatest sports headlines I've ever read in today's Guardian 'Bath Reap Barkley-James Harvest' (those born after 1970 see here). Anyway, I digress. I sat down in front of the excellent Wonders of the Solar System and watched Brian Cox (no, not that Brian Cox, this Brian Cox) explain how Jupiter affects asteroids and nudges them towards our planet in about 15 seconds and in a clearer manner than any school science teacher ever.

It's a remarkable show and Prof. Cox (think Jon Ronson, Alex James and Simon Armitage stuck in that machine from The Fly with Sir Patrick Moore) is a immensely knowledgable, enthusiastic host, with a good deal of charm and an uncanny ability to break down massively intimidating, complex particle- and astrophysics into understandable nuggets without resorting to hokey soundbites. Watching 'Wonders' is very much like watching a fireworks display, I find myself constantly 'ooh' ing and 'ahh' ing at the amazing vistas and the terrifying power of science. Cox sits beside a volcano in Ethiopia, indie-musician hair tousled by the wind (what the Prof would no doubt refer to as 'the beauty of physics') and explains how the magma bubbling to the surface in the pit of this volcano accurately represents what occurs on the surface of Jupiter's smallest moon, Io. Assertions that 'Wonders' could well be the 'Cosmos' of our generation are well-founded, I feel and Prof. Cox will no doubt ascend to the pantheon of great British documentary makers to join the Attenboroughs and Clarks of this world.

Well, several hours after all that excitement, at 1 in the morning I was still awake. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and turned the radio on (yeah, bathroom radio, what of it?) and caught the end of the shipping forecast (still don't know what it means, it could well be a big in-joke between all the fishermen and the Maritime and Coast Guard Agency). The continuity announcer then informed me that it was the end of programming. Yup, I'd stayed up so late that the radio had run out, how about that? Then they played the national anthem. Tremendous, why don't more radio stations do this? I bloody love Radio 4 for that (and for all the excellent comedy, not least The Unbelievable Truth which by happy coincidence starts a new series tonight at 6.30).

Eventually I made it to bed and listened to BBC 7. Poirot was on. There'd been a murder in France and Poirot was on the case. Interestingly all the French people spoke with perfect English accents, but Poirot maintained his comedy French accent, bloody Walloon. When I went to see my relatives in Flanders I noticed that although Agatha Christie was seemingly popular, Poirot was conspicuously absent. There's a healthy disrespect between the Flemish and the Walloons and was with this heartwarming reassurance that I eventually fell asleep.

I'm still knackered though and its now chucking it down, so congratulations on that British Summer Time. I want that hour back goddammit.