Here in the UK our clocks go forward an hour tonight – oh joy (I hope you spot the hint of sarcasm in my tone). With us the Spring time change is always on the last Sunday in March, and for some reason no matter how old I get it’s always an issue for me to adapt. It’s as if I’m such a creature of habit my in-built body-clock simply rebels against being messed about – oh, and I stuggle with awful jet-lag, too, it really zombifies me for ages.
I think the worst ever March for time-changes for me was probably the particular year we flew to the USA for a family visit with my in-laws. We arrived there on the first weekend in March, and a week later I was just about getting used to the six-hour time difference when the clocks went forward an hour. Then the following weekend, just as I was starting to feel more like a human again we flew back to the UK with yet another zombifying jump in time difference to get used to – and then just for good measure, a week later the clocks changed here, too… 😦