It seems to me to confirm my view that people are happiest on organic natural time, based as closely as possible on local conditions. This doesn’t happen when the clocks go back. In 2014, a study in Michigan showed that switching over to ‘daylight saving time’, so losing one hour’s sleep, raised the risk of having a heart attack the following Monday by 25 per cent, compared with other Mondays. They reported in 2020 that putting the clocks forward was followed by a notable increase in a heart disturbance, atrial fibrillation, associated with strokes.
The wonderfully named Albert Einstein College of Medicine in New York tracked 6,000 patients in their 60s over a seven-year period. When, next March, the clocks are jammed forwards again, you will – by contrast – feel worse. If you declare it is in fact one o’clock in the afternoon, you are falsifying reality, just as if you rigged your car speedometer to say 30mph when you were doing 40. Noon is a real event, a measurable relationship between the sun and our bit of the world.
#Rescind blairs knighthood gets hundreds thousands Patch#
That is because you are now on natural time, the true time for our patch of the Earth’s surface. When you got up today after an extra hour’s sleep, and noted that the mornings are now pleasantly lighter after weeks of darkness, I bet you also felt a lot better for it. THEIR fashionable spectacles glinting, think-tank fanatics have spent the past few months saying: ‘Let’s leave the clocks where they are and stop all this changing about.’ But they don’t quite mean that. Yes, our society has always had murderers and thieves in it, but something far more cruel is now in our midst. This is compiled from hundreds of local media reports by Ross Grainger. Well, OK, if they say so.Īll I can say about that is that the grotesque fury and savagery of his behaviour is horribly like that of many criminals whose merciless actions are listed on the website ‘Attacker Smoked Cannabis’. They made the mistake of thinking they could leave the back door open for a minute or two while they put the cat out.ĭerbyshire Police, to their credit more forthcoming than most forces I approach about this, tell me that drug abuse by the killer ‘was a line of enquiry within the investigation and no evidence came to light that Vasile Culea was a drug user’. They perhaps had not realised that there has been a revolution since then. The couple, living in an ordinary suburban home in a Derbyshire village, were just respectable, straightforward British people from a generation who grew up when burglary was a rare and major crime, drugs unknown and gambling a minor thing on the edge of society, bookie’s runners, football pools and bingo. I doubt whether Culea’s ‘addiction’ will trouble him much in the prison which will now be his inadequate punishment. ‘Addiction’ is a word used far too often to excuse wilful self-destruction by people perfectly capable of controlling themselves, if they thought it worthwhile. News accounts of this event stress that Culea was an indebted gambler, supposedly ‘addicted’ to this stupid amusement. I have my own theory of what he died of, and I would not call it ‘natural causes’, but what can I say?Ĭulea appears to have been trying to get the couple to tell him where they had hidden some money. He never went home from hospital, though he lingered there for seven months. Bizarrely, Ken Walker’s later death in hospital was listed as being from ‘natural causes’, despite the fact that he suffered a brain injury during the invasion of their home, and had been beaten bloody, before, or possibly after being tied up and gagged. She was 5ft 2in tall and yet Culea, a fit young man, killed her. They did not live in some inner-city gang-infested zone, but in the kind of street and the kind of house that millions inhabit. They had come through all those decades, and might have thought they were entitled to a peaceful final few years together. He was a retired electrician and former district councillor. Not long afterwards, he subjected Mrs Walker, 86, and her husband Ken, 88, to a night of merciless torture. He seems to have sneaked in while she was not looking. WHEN Freda Walker opened her back door to let her cat out one night last January, she let Hell into her home. This is Peter Hitchens' Mail on Sunday column
0 kommentar(er)
