My family is perpetually 10 minutes late.
This is because at the time we should be leaving someone realises they don’t have shoes on, or that they’ve left their guitar behind or need the loo.
The way I combat this is by putting all the clocks forward by ten minutes. It keeps me calmer while it infuriates my husband, who resents my sneaky approach to curtail his tardiness.
He feels that a lowly human like me has no right to interfere with time and that a clock should always tell it like it is.
I think of a clock as more of a guideline.
This strategy has worked very well for me.
But you know what they say about all good things?
Somehow the alarm clock got put forward by an hour.
So, when I awoke to shining winter sun to find it read 8am, I panicked.
In nanoseconds I had kids dressed, their teeth brushed and was shovelling cereal at them like a demented front end loader.
I realised it was only 7:10.
And the most infuriating part is that there is no-one to blame but myself.
And I can hear my husband gloating from across the city.
Hoisted by my own petard.