after that it was always ten minutes to five in the castle

Hmmm. The day the Army of Reconstruction arrived, both the clocks stopped. I'm having difficulty not seeing that as some sort of omen. As the Evil Landlord says, it definitely bodes. Other negatives: there's a smelly chemical toilet next to the front gate, no surface on the patio, and the toilet cistern in my bathroom has sprung an exuberant leak, presumably as a result of all the bashing outside. It's all a bit apocalyptic.

Also, the house is filthy but I'm buggered from a day of maddened orientation planning (success of the day! the box of 1000 newly-copied orientation booklets I've been hunting with increasing panic for five days eventually surfaced, two inches from the right foot of the secretary who has assured me, straight-faced and without flinching on four separate occasions, that it was never delivered) and damned if I'm going to clean it, as it's just going to get filthy again tomorrow. Have concocted elaborate baked rice supper instead, and shall allow that to put a ceremonial tick in the "domesticity" box.

I hate not having my books to hand. There's a perfectly lovely Thurber quote about clockwork I really want to use in the subject line, and The Thirteen Clocks is sealed in a box in Sven&Tanya's guest room so I can't dig it out. Tchah, and likewise Phooey.