THIS weekend sees that mighty luxury – we get one over Old Father Time.
Yes, the clocks go back, giving us an extra hour in bed, some additional daylight in the mornings and, if the conditions are right, some atmospheric fog as the evenings arrive that bit earlier.
The passage of time is always an interesting thing. Well, unless I’m looking in the bathroom mirror. There’s a reason why the mugshot of me that adorns this space is 10 years old, and it’s in your interests. Don’t want you having nightmares after all.
This month is one that often sparks reflections for me. There’s a day in it where one receives more post than usual (just bills these days).
It’s also the day where I have to feign enthusiasm for new pairs of socks and a box of Maltesers that somehow I never see again, thanks to some children ever-eager to help out.
This time 25 years ago, something else happened that would eventually change my life. I walked into the offices of the student newspaper at the University of Reading, wanting to help.
From a few sessions looking over the shoulders (and generally annoying) someone who is now a BBC newsreader, from taking some baby steps in learning how to write, and discovering that actually this was what I was born to do, I became editor of Spark. It led to a job at the Reading Post and, well, here we are.
Looking back, this was always how my career path was going to pan out. As a child, making newspapers on Dad’s old fashioned typewriter was fun. Having a new sheet of Lettraset was bliss. Learning to read, it was the Telegraph’s television pages that taught me much about the old ITV system as well as how to tell the time.
But that’s another Spacephiller…
… The problem with the passage of time is the stuff that comes with it.
Writing, producing, designing and creating newspapers for 25 years means an awful lot of restaurant reviews, celebrity interviews, knockout front pages, redesigns and news stories. More cuttings that you can shake sticks out.
In fact, our loft has been groaning under the weight.
If you bought The Wokingham Times, you might remember its 24Seven leisure magazine that I edited. Kept every copy.
That time when I put on an exhibition dedicated to how newspapers had changed from hot metal to computers? A whole archive awaits future historians.
A stint as a TV critic? Every column kept, even the ones that should have been filed in the bin. That’s most of them.
Then there’s my collections: a fairly chunky archive of newspapers from the 1800s onwards. Every Doctor Who Monthly since 1979. A host of random Radio Times back in the day it was the size of a tank and the colour pages would stick to the black and white ones. Lots of Beanos.
If ever Channel 4 needed volunteers for a clutter programme, all they need to do is give me a call.
The quarter century is certainly time to take stock. Even with that hour clawed back, Old Father Time will win in the end. Short of building a casket from my cuttings, I can’t take it with me, and there’s only a limited demand (of one) for much of my old work.
Yes, wallowing in nostalgia might bring me joy, as Marie Kondo would ask, but it certainly doesn’t bring joy to those who have to tiptoe around the many, many piles of stuff.
To compromise, I’m digitising some of it (well, taking photos on my phone) for happy memories in days to come, and the rest? Well, Old Father Time can read whatever it’s been recycled into. After all, who wants to live in the past?
Here’s to the next 25 years…
