Spring forward! Or, you know, don't. Up to you.

Sunday was the day when everyone moved their clocks ahead by one hour. Only it turns out that Landlady J and I are not everyone, since neither of us remembered to do it. We both got up at the normal time, got ready, went to church, and then it STILL took us both a really long time to figure out that something was off.

In my case, I walked into the nursery and thought, "Huh. Why are they having snacktime at the beginning?" The other teachers figured out what had happened before I did, but they were too nice to say anything. It wasn't until parents started showing up to get their kids that I became all befuddled and the other girls started laughing at me.

But hey, shorter church! And it was sunny and 60 degrees that morning, and we took the kids out to look for birds, and I wore my kicky red skirt and displayed my Johnson's Holiday Skin legs. And no, I'm not vain or superficial. It's a public service, on account of I'm pretty sure no one in Gran Canaria (or England, or the space stations orbiting the earth) wants to be blinded by my vampire-white legs.

Of course, the nice weather only lasted long enough for me to walk home from church, all in love with the sunshine and mankind. I even got a honk from a carload of baseball-cap-and-gold-jewelry-wearing youths, that's how hot I looked. Once I was safely home it started raining.

Also it was Mothering Sunday, which turns out to be have a completely different history than Mother's Day in the States. Here it goes back to the tradition of sending kids who were working as apprentices or servants home on the 4th Sunday of Lent for some mothering. I guess on the other 364 days of the year they were told to suck it up and stop being such crybabies.

Posted in: England