The Charmed life and Hard Times of Alarm Clocks.

Apart from the odd furtive search for a drinking voucher, I studiously avoid investigating the interior of ladies handbags. However I have noticed that as dearest Dottie gets on a bit, some oddities do emerge from the cavernous Anta. Only recently whilst dearest Dottie was riding shotgun in Otto on an M6 blast, I spotted her slightly surprised look when she pulled out an unexpected handful of Jelly Beans wrapped in a tissue, origin unknown! This leads me to alarm clocks, an object I have always rather avoided, as my Father, the 14th Baron Trollaigh, always warned that ill timed settings could cause seizure or even death in the early hours, to say nothing of bed wetting or worse.
Be that as it may dearest Dottie has a basic black alarm clock that must have, over the years, seen many a hard knock as well as witnessing many moments of wondrous gladness and sorrow; the clock's nine lives are legend, I can certainly attest to collecting it from a Queensland ditch after its unprovoked ejection from a suitcase unwisely balanced on the roof rack of a '70s VW campervan. However perhaps it's time was up when it was posted missing after a recent night or two at the Royal Southern Yacht Club, Hamble; when all hope was lost, yes you have guessed, the bloody thing popped out of dearest Dotties bag some days later!
Along with winter one hears that ASBOs are now behind us; to be honest electronic tagging is not common in the reckless wastes of Glen Trollaigh, although when I see some of our summer campers I am strongly tempted to restrain something or indeed any limb that might be to hand. the camper's behaviour makes that of the ravenous members of our low-key local hunt seem positively benign, as they tally-ho onto the great lawns of Trollaigh for a deep draft of the Baronial stirrup cup.
However we must not take things for granted as a stronger sun starts to warm us and thoughts change from the endless lists of indoor DIY to those of outdoor chores; perhaps even the odd picnic day away. The snow is still thick on the ridges and although bird song fills the mornings, sharp frosts drive me into the comforts of the Great Bed of Trollaigh and the ticking of dearest Dotties bally black alarm clock. How can I get rid of the pesky thing once and for all? Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.