Part 1: The School-Run Time-Warp
Every morning, Monday to Friday, between 8:20am and ten-to nine, time speeds up. It’s quite inconvenient, really.
It goes like this: At 8:12 breakfast is proceeding as normal, ie. being thrown all over the kitchen. Then a kind of haze descends. I can’t state with accuracy what happens during The Haze. I do know that I hear my own ever-more-exasperated voice, repeating demands to brush teeth or put school shoes on. There’s the high-pitched wailing of pre-schooler rebellion. And everything seems to move at about a million miles per hour, presumably in little tiny circles, because we never get anywhere. After what seems like ten minutes of this, the haze lifts. Somehow, it’s always ten minutes to. What bizarre fractal of space and time have we uncovered? It’s one for Prof. Brian Cox to answer, preferably by text, as I can’t stop and chat. We’re late again, you see.