Vol. 2, Issue 11, March 16, 2004
Fizzy Tea Hits the Spot
Studio8

Do you have a Minute? I do

Ezekiel F. Watley, Esq.

Though I do not count myself a Wealthy man, still I am Privileged to want for very Little. Fortune has Smiled upon me such that I am never short of fine Tobacco or Single-Malt; I may afford minor Luxuries such as fresh silk Spats for every suitable Occasion, and the periodic Polishing of my Opera-Glasses. My business is one which I enjoy Thoroughly, and our offices are Replete with an Abundance of that fresh news-room Smell (excessively So, to be Frank). Indeed, I am fortunate, for there is Little I am truly Short of.

With one Notable exception: Time. The modern-day Life of a busy Editor, alas, Steams along at a Reckless pace, heedless of our mortal Frailties. I Catapult forth from Bed in the morning; no sooner have I finished my Coffee and perused the morning Papers, it is time for my pre-prandial Promenade; on to Lunch at the Club (punctually Served, you may be Sure); back to the Office to sift through my Correspondence; and lo! - Dinner is upon me before I am half-way Finished. It is a Wonder I have time for my Whist club.

And so, to keep me on the straight and Narrow as I sail the Tumultuous waters of my Schedule, I enlist the Aid of various Time-Keeping devices. My trusty Pocket-Watch is ever at the Ready, gold chain neatly Clipped to my Vest; the Mantel-Clock beats a steady Rhythm through the Day, its brass Fittings maneuvering intricately around its Mercury-filled Counterweights. The Shipman's clock in the Hallway chimes for the Lads, reminding them of their Charge to be ever Vigilant in their pursuit of Journalism. And the new-fangled Art-Deco clock on my Desk, a Gift from a former Client some years back, adds a daring touch of brazen Modernity to the timekeeping Chorus.

But yesterday Disaster struck: for as I sallied forth in the Morning to catch my Train, tugging at the Chain to my Pocket-Watch, naught but an empty Clip popped forth from my Pocket. Great Scott: I had forgotten the Watch!

Such a thing had not Happened for Years and Years, since my feckless Youth in fact. What was I to Do? I took the Precaution of tucking the Chain back where it Belonged and wadding up my Train-Schedule and stuffing it in my Vest-pocket where the Watch was accustomed to rest, lest others Perceive that the pocket was Devoid of this crucial Implement. But I was so Flustered when I arrived at the Office that I forgot to wind the Shipman's clock. I only realized after the Coffee was drunk and the Papers perused that the News-Room was too quiet: indeed, the lads were all Sleeping, the whitewashed cabinet of the Shipman's clock a silent sentry instead of faithful Alarm clock. Wake Up! Wake Up, for the Sake of the Nation! I was forced to Rouse them all with my Walking-Stick.

Such excitement and Exertion led me to seek an extra Dram or two of Highland Park. But such was my bewildered State that I inadvertently shared a dram or Two with the Art-Deco Clock. Needless to Say, this artifact of Modernity failed to withstand the Whiskey. Quick, the Mantel-Clock! I rushed to Wind it, now in a genuine Hurry: here was the last Bastion of Timeliness in my Routine, save the Grand-Father clock at the Club (too far Away to run my Business, alas). A hurry, unfortunately, which caused me to Snap the key off in the Lock. I was Clockless.

But what a Day ensued! I soon Resigned myself to my Fate, and took some extra Time to appreciate the Highland Park. A bit of Dalwhinnie makes an excellent Chaser for that, of course. And I perused my letters before taking my Luncheon: astoundingly risky! Yet a pleasant Break from Routine. The day ended up Encompassing a surprise visit from an old Friend; an impromptu discussion of Aristotelian philosophy with Ephram and some of the more alert Fellows in the News-Room; a full English Tea at the Club later in the afternoon, which I normally miss; and a simply splendid tournament of Darts, wherein I may modestly say I was not the Worst. What a delightful Day!

Time remains my most Valuable commodity; and in truth, the gray hairs in my Beard are testament to the fact that my Store of it is largely Spent and ever Dwindling. But for all that, I seem to have a bit More than I used to, now that I no longer Count it so carefully. Hmm. I wonder if the same Approach would be effective with my Bank Account.


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