Hey,

The clock says it is late. I took the news pretty hard. As the tears run freely, all I can think of are the good times me and the clock had together. I remember our first evening together, I sat one side of the table, drinking a strong, full bodied sirloin, it sat opposite, blinking madly, almost hyponotically. The following morning, we woke up together. I yawned and smiled, she said "WBEEEP, BEEEP" until I smashed her on the head and she shut up. It was on heart warming moments like these our relationship was built.

At some points, being with the clock made me feel like time was standing still. For a week in August 2003, I believed it was always 12:00. I would come to realise that she was hiding the power cut from me, like an embarassing secret. It would always be so, I would tell her that she was too quiet, she would just sit there, staring at me face to face, occasionaly spitting on my gerbils.

But now the clock is gone. She is no more, and I can never have that back. In many ways, ours was a relationship that was never going to work: I, a fully grown adult male, she, a clock, and a staunch Tory at that. I can only hope there are more like her.

Craig

Since this was broadcast, Craig packed up his small gerbil shop in Melton Mowbray and moved to Uzbekistan, where he met a sundial. The clock left $400,000 to a tablelamp. The sirloin hasn't been heard from since.