There is a lot of serious news in the world right now, which may explain why I have become obsessed with a story from America that is seismic but not traumatic. Unbelievably US senators, who these days could not agree on how to tie a shoe (if shoes were still tied), have voted to scrap changing the clocks twice a year. Yes! And it was unanimous.
It happened this week, just days after the time change in the States, which comes earlier than ours. “A Groggy Senate Approves Making Daylight Savings Permanent,��� reported The New York Times. Senators were apparently “groggy” after losing one hour of sleep over the weekend. Honestly. Wuss Central.
It’s called the Sunshine Protection Act (of course it is) and it is championed by the Republican Marco Rubio of the state of Florida (official nickname: the Sunshine State) who thinks it’s crazy that the time change has been going on since 1918. “One has to ask themselves after a while: why do we keep doing it?” he asked.
The bipartisan bill still awaits passage in the House of Representatives, but it has prompted me to ask: yes, why do we still do it? Surely there’s enough doom and gloom without continuing to inflict those awful dark January afternoons on ourselves. Is it, tick tock, time for a change here too?
1970s’ new platform
I consider myself a child of the Seventies, which has always been wildly uncool. It’s the kids from the Sixties who invariably get all the good press, what with the flowers in their hair, the peace marches, the Moon landing, the sex, drugs and rock’n’roll. What are the Seventies famous for? Perhaps the colour brown? Or streaking? But also, most certainly, anxiety. No one expected to grow up calm and contented in a world were MAD (if you don’t know what it means, you weren’t there) was a serious possibility.
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We grew up reading about nuclear weapons, queueing for petrol and an economy that always seemed a bit ropey. I came to the UK in 1979 and found a country embraced by gloom. As a new Cold War and energy crisis loom, even fashion seems determinedly Seventies. There’s a skirt now so short it’s called a skelt (skirt and belt in one). Then there’s platform heels. Terrible idea then — and now.
Bad form
So farewell, then, Passenger Locator Form, which has been scrapped as of today. Devised by bureaucrats for bureaucrats. Infuriating to fill out and often difficult to retrieve to show people with clipboards in airports. It was never — EVER — read by anyone. Now they never will be.
Magical garden
I visited Great Dixter in East Sussex for a garden workshop and, for one glorious day, escaped from the world as it is. The house, designed by Lutyens, is stunning but it is the garden that is pure magic: even at this time of year it sprouts piles of giant fennel that look like a gathering of the Cousin Itt appreciation society, swathes of diminutive daffodils and profusions of tiny white spiraea flowers. Dixter has to be up there with Sissinghurst and Chatsworth as among the best gardens in the world.
Refugee guilt
Admission: We are not going to apply to house a Ukrainian refugee. There, it’s been said. Feeling guilty but, also, pleased that so many others are.
Decline and fall
Word of the week is “cerebrotonic”, which refers to someone who is introverted, shy, restrained. It was found in The Fall of Rome, a poem by Auden, who has become something of a social media star because he writes so well about war and, in this case, the way great civilisations break down. Good word, great poem.