I got up at 5 o'clock this morning.  I didn't mean to.  I was supposed get up at 6 to get into work early, but I can't read those non-digital clocks.  Mine is one of those Disney clocks you usually find in the childrens ward in hospitals, where Mickey Mouse tells the time by rotating his arms over his head and pointing at nice plump smiling numbers.  Thats great if you are a convalescing kid, with nowhere to go in a hurry, but its not at all funny if you are awoken an hour early coz Mickey's big fat plastic hand, the most imprecise pointing device ever created, is leaning more towards the smiling 5 than the laughing 6.  I wouldn't mind but I really tried hard to align his hand perfectly with the cute little 6 digit, a  representation far too happy for  such a grumpy hour.  I even put the clock up on the window sill and performed an inspection from different angles and heights, exactly like construction workers do before arguing about the plumbness of a wall, until I was happy that Mickey was going to call me on time.

Anyway, on hearing the alarm, I got up and got dressed, unaware of the smiling rodents deceit, and leaned over the bed to get my digital watch.  It was then that I learned it was 5:11:34 precisely.  I was dumbstruck and remained leaning over the bed for a full minute as I questioned if it could really be, and debating whether I should chuck the clock out the window and get back into bed for a whinge.  In the end I decided to stay up and be a man about it. And of course it gave me a great opportunity to use that old "Well, I have a days work done already" line when my co-workers arrived in at 9.

The funny thing is though, I never really wanted this particular clock.  I wanted an alarm clock alright, because I had temporarily contracted ME and slept it in for 3 mornings in a row.  So one evening I was walking home past one of those trendy furniture and household shops and, being the impulsive type and fancying the hell out of the shop assistant, I decided I would go in a get a ticking remedy to my laziness.

"Hi.  I'd like an alarm clock that would wake the dead, please".  I was feeling particularly garrulous.
"Ahhh, right", said her mouth while her face said "Weirdo".  "The alarm clocks are downstairs in the bedroom section.  Follow me sir."
So I did and she presented me with an alarm clock in the wicker form of a windmill.
"God, isn't that lovely", I enthused.  "How much is it?".
"95 pounds".
I had neglected to say that I was looking for a CHEAP alarm clock that would wake the dead. Unphased I replied "Ok, well I'm sort of shopping around at the moment and I might call back later" and I turned on my heals and swaggered out of the shop with all the sophistication and confidence of a man that shops around for alarm clocks.

At little farther up the street I passed a hardware store and getting carried away by the surging shopping wave, I decided to try there too.  There couldn't be greater contrast before this shop and the last, as I bumped into a second hand flymo.  But yes, he did have cheap alarm clocks that would wake the dead haha, now where did he leave them, oh thats right up there behind the 4 inch nails, oops better not knock the hammers down haha, now isn't that a grand clock, yes it is, and only ten quid, I'll take it haha.

I was taken with the moment and, well I kinda liked the look of the mouse with my name, and I bought it.  But it was the shop keeper that had the last laugh as he made the sale of the century, ridding himself of the pink disney clock with the lying rat from hell that now rests at the bottom of a binbag waiting to smile and befriend some poor unsuspecting binman.