The 23 Hour Day

I try to live a full and varied life. But things are conspiring against me. At best, each day is 23 hours long.

The lost 60 minutes is taken up by a variety of things that serve no enjoyable purpose whatsoever.

First it's the various operations that involve oral hygiene. My dental hygienist has me flossing, interdenting, brushing and more. It adds up to a good 10 minutes each morning.

Next comes the telephone wittering. Have you noticed how as we get older, people we speak to on the phone take forever to come to the point, they throw in random irrelevances and then start to repeat themselves for emphasis? A good 15 minutes if you are unlucky, which I frequently am.

Of course, no day is complete without having to make a telephone call to a machine spouting options before having to wait, wait and wait longer still before you are connected to a real voice. A charitable 20 minutes.

That leaves 15 minutes which can be taken up by sifting through spam emails offering me viagra, lasting friendships with Russian prostitutes, a win on the lottery and the opportunity to become a millionaire by transferring the illgotten gains of an African Prince or Diplomat through my bank account.

Should I be lucky enough to have saved a few moments of my lost hour, I can always repel doorstep sales people who ignore the large "bugger off" sign on the front door, I can join the queue at the Post Office or I can sit at some temporary traffic lights which blight the roads of South Oxfordshire.

Alternatively I could lighten up a bit, but where's the fun in that?