Clock-a-doodle-don't

For the first time in pretty much a year, my children have slept in past stupid o'clock. All thanks to British Summer Time and the clocks springing forward.

I wasn't aware they had achieved this as I stumbled around our kitchen executing chores with the efficiency of the working mother. Our clocks still read the old time so it wasn't until I switched on my vowel-phone that I was aware of the miracle. As household timekeeper (by which I mean the one who harangues the family until they're out the door, and has taken to bringing deadlines forward by 15 minutes just to get to dates more or less on time), it falls to me to change the clocks. I'd forgotten just how many we have.

The longer, lighter skies bring their own challenges. It's this time of the year that we rediscover how ineffective black-out curtains are. We'll have a few mornings of panic, when we think we've overslept because it's so bright outside. But we're also heading towards the British Summer, and all the pleasures that the warmer weather brings.

We're entering sweat stain season, the potential for body odours abounds as the public struggles with its wardrobe choice in the face of the unreliable and changeable British weather.

There's the tights-dilemma. Is it warm enough to go bare legged? Will we take the chance to bring our pins from hibernation, or run the risk of a warm day in 60 denier and the humid discomfort that can bring to the (ahem) lap-area. Legs released from winter woollies are ill prepared for view. They require waxing and moisturising to shed their winter plumage. Skin colour will vary too, from the palour of Golem to an attractive mottling of pink and purple, part lividity and part corned beef.

All winter long, feet have been snug in boots and closed shoes, oftentimes encased in socks, even in bed. They too require pampering before being unleashed on the public: nails trimmed and painted, hard skin removed with pumice/sandpaper/razor, and scented moisturiser lathered on every night, once again sleeping in socks to help it penetrate your plates. To shirk this, one risks cracked heels and callouses to whomever is behind you on the escalator when you're sporting sling backs. Attractive.

As it heats up outside, we'll be treated to the wife beater vest, frequently modelled by the pale and puny, a chance to show off tattoos and underarm hair to an adoring public, this is a British fashion rarely seen elsewhere in the world. When it's really hot, these same lads will go bare chested, with the vest slung over one shoulder, a token reference to being dressed. It's a fashion best teamed with a souped-up hatchback, preferably with windows down and some incessant beat cranked up to distortion. If not in transport, accessorise with a can of Stella Artois.

Boots and trainers make way for espadrilles and trainers, both of which are banned from homes nationwide and left to ferment outside, in porches and on windowsills.

Big coats will be put into hibernation (unless southerners are venturing north), scarves, hats and gloves can be stored, ready for our winter, which could start sometime in September. The British public willingly embraces the promise of warmth that BST brings, and we'll enjoy a few days of bliss before the heat gets too much and we descend into madness, tempers frayed, skin burned to a crisp, and spend our days inside shrouded houses moaning about the sun. We Brits love to talk about the weather.

Although the clocks going forward means our weekend has been shortened, there is one benefit every parent will embrace along with the promise of holidays, warmth and sunshine. The children will be going to bed an hour earlier tonight. And that means so can we.