The Mystery of “The Clock”
For about a week, something was missing at the pool.
Not a person.
Not a towel.
THE BIG CLOCK!
Now, when you get a group of retirees together, what we affectionately call the “Pool of Old Farts,” the disappearance of the clock becomes a matter of some importance.
Questions were asked, Speculation occurred, and theories were proposed.
Had it fallen, and shattered?
Had it drowned, and was the cause of the police presence the other night?
Had one of the “younguns” taken it as a lark?
Eventually, I made a casual remark about the status of “the clock.” while ordering my morning coffee. That’s when the truth emerged.
The clock had been retired to the plant room, where broken things go to think about their behaviour.
A new one was apparently being considered because this one had developed a problem.
It had a Post-it note attached:
“Loses time, even with new battery.”
Now that sort of note is dangerous around people like me.
Because the moment you read something like that, a small voice in your head says:
“Well now… we can’t have that.”
And thus began the next chapter in the long history of men who should probably leave well enough alone
… but don’t.
A lifelong storyteller, shaped by sheds, stories, and making things by hand.
This is where the ideas, the tinkering, and the occasional terrible joke all end up.
Uncle Grandad acknowledges the Bundjalung People as the Traditional Custodians of the land on which these stories are written and shared. We pay our respects to Elders past and present, and honour the rich culture, storytelling traditions, and deep connection to Country that continue to inspire.
