It is actually Still Thursday the 27^th. I'm cheating again and writing this blog on the day before. I have just returned from walking Skipper along the Silverburn. It is cold, raining and the wind is from the southeast. They are forecasting force 8 tonight and over an inch of rain. Of course we don't always take any notice of forecasts. When I smoked, I chose to ignore them and look what happened to me. I almost got blown on to the rocks. I did eventually and hopefully not too late, change course and, although we are still sailing through choppy waters are prospects of reaching our destination are brighter. Whatever and wherever our destination is. If only I had listened to the forecasts back then regarding my smoking. I have heard the forecast for tonight so, I will take evasive action and remain tied up in the harbour.

There is an old fisherman's saying. "If you won't be guided by the rudder, you will be taught by the rocks."

This weekend, the clocks move forward. During the war, a bunch of MP'S started mucking about with the clocks thinking they could buy more daylight or time. As far as I know, there are still only 24 hours in each day and the hours of daylight and darkness are exactly as they were since the beginning of time. Our clocks will move forward one hour on Saturday. However, the song thrush will still beginning the dawn chorus on Sunday at the same time and the tide will still rise and fall at the same time.

Robert Kinvig, a sheep farmer use to come in to Castletown from the hills of ronaugh every Tuesday to do his shopping. Before returning, he would join me and the late Keith Collister for a pint in the Union. I recall Robert turning up one Tuesday and Keith commenting that Robert had not put his watch forward, the clocks having moved forward the previous Saturday. "Well" said Robert. "We are not to an hour or two in Ronague!" Six months later the clocks moved back again and, Robert came in to town, walked up to Keith who was stood at the bar and said. "You see boy, I knew you would come round to my way of thinking eventually." The trouble with time is, none of know how much of it we have. This makes it difficult to manage. Norman Gayle use to be the custodian at Castle Rushen. One day he was sitting on a bench in Castletown square. A couple of tourist got talking to him and, after a while, one of them said. "Thank you Mr Gayle we have really enjoyed your stories. Now, tell me, have you lived here all your life?" "No" said Norman. "Well not yet!"

Sometimes the way we talk about time can lead to confusion. This is a true story that happened to me.

About 25 years ago I had become friendly with an Irish guy called Pat. He had been working over here for several months and was now going home for Christmas. I joined him for a beer or two in the Viking hotel in Castletown. As we stood at the bar having a beer, Pat went to use the public phone at the end of the bar to check on his flight to Dublin. During his conversation with the receptionist at the airport Pat was heard to ask. "Well how long does the flight take?" "Just a minute replied the receptionist? "Be jayses, that's mighty" replied Pat and replaced the receiver.

Some folks seem to think that life itself is a race. They spend each hour as if it might be their last. Life is not a race. Six weeks ago when I thought I was dying. I didn't spot anyone busting a gut, in a last minute bid to beat me to the graveyard.

Cancer teaches you just how precious time is. I am not sure though whether I have stolen another bucket load or whether I have been given it. Whatever, I am happy to share some of it with you each day through this blog.

Until tomorrow then, this is Tom Glassey, blogarding his way through life for news at 10.15 a.m on the banks of the Silverburn River.