It’s Daylight Saving Somewhere

G and I were in bed in our usual positions.

Stop. No need to get frightened.

I mean we were sitting with a cup of tea, with our laptops open.

“Is it Daylight Savings here this weekend?” I was genuinely confused.

G stopped typing, thought for a moment and then said “Do we do Daylight Savings here?”


“It’s Daylight Savings somewhere, I know it is, I’m sure someone said something.”

Canada. It was Daylight Savings in Canada. I was momentarily confused about where I was living.

I have seen so many pictures of snow over the past few weeks that I’ve contemplated putting on a jacket when it has been a luminous and sunny thirty degrees here in Qatar.

“I’ll be happy if I never see snow again” a Canadian girlfriend declared on her Facebook status along with a picture of a snow covered outdoor table setting; in the background her husband was barbecuing while wearing a his North Face puffer jacket and a beanie/toque.

“And this could go until May!” I went to type back – before I realized that I didn’t actually live in Canada anymore, my comment was sounding a little more merciless than sympathetic from my desert surroundings.

I rang the restaurant to make a booking “Can I have your cell number please?

“Sure, it’s 0415 6… oh hang on, wrong country, it’s 7731…..”

The longer I travel, and the more technology improves, the more severe my geographical schizophrenia becomes.

In the bottom of my purse are the keys to the beach-house, once a week I’ll grab at them to open a door a long way from home. I’ve pulled out the wrong drivers license, and quoted the wrong credit card. Last week I asked a teacher if she remembered the really nice lady in the library who I hadn’t seen for ages. That would be because she’s in Texas, where she lives and always has. Wrong school.

G talked about the possibility of friends from Houston moving on. “I’ll miss them…” I hadn’t lived in the same city as them for two years, it was a ridiculous thing to say. Or was it?

“I’ll miss that Houston – the Houston with them, I’ll miss not being able to go back to that Houston”.

We can never go back to exactly what we left. And as expats our goodbyes are often a little too definite. Will we ever live in the same city again? Probably not.

Sometimes it’s nice to grab the wrong house keys and pretend.

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