Some years before my Gran died, she moved into one of those retirement flats with the "come and help me because I fell" cords in every room. This meant getting rid of a load of stuff, mainly carbooting, but she also gifted some stuff. To me she gave a small Bakelite clock that I absolutely love. It doesn't work, but it's lovely, and someday I'll get it fixed.
Because the flat that we lived in when Kittencat was born was incredibly tiny, the clock stayed at my mum's. It wasn't wound, but, two days before Kittencat was born, it started to tick. When Kittencat was born, we had hellish problems feeding, raw skin, mastitis, all sorts of fun, and it took just over two weeks to get to a point where we didn't have to express and could just do it straight. Nobody wound the clock, yet it carried on ticking for a total of nineteen days, only stopping at the point where we had got the hang of things.
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