Time Zones

Every so often, I Skype with Rosie, my friend in Philadelphia.  We have a window just after she gets up and before I get busy with late afternoon work.  It’s about 2pm – I am always complimentary if she’s managed to put her earrings in by the time we speak.

The twins are also developing their own time zones – Perran is a bit ahead, like, say, France, because he has to get up early for his paper round.  Carenza is well behind, like a sleepy Mediterranean holiday town.  She has several getting-up attempts each morning, most of them unsuccessful.  Although now she is about to make her own personal and unwelcome connection with British Summer Time because term is starting again.  

Pascoe, however, has become positively Antipodean - he is so busy striving towards his dissertation hand-in date right now that he sometimes works through the night.  I can’t decide whether he’s a day ahead or a day behind, but I got a text at 10am yesterday, saying “Have just handed in second draft.  Off to bed now.” 

By 2pm, however, he appeared to be up and about again.

It all makes rendezvousing with Rosie seem quite simple.

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