The Wabbit was bemused. He might have been shocked but he was seldom shocked or astonished. He was on the minute hand of a clock and shuddering each time it moved. "Perplexed," he said to himself. As he went round the perspective changed and things became upside down, then the right way up. He noticed a temperature gauge. "It's not 25'C degrees or anything like," he murmured." "In fact, this isn't even the correct time. It's about 7 minutes fast." He hummed a tune. "And you run, and you run, to catch up with the sun, but it's racing around, to come up behind you again." His head reached six. He felt a little dizzy, but he was soon on his way to twelve. "How did I get here?" he asked himself. "Time to ask yourself," answered a voice. "The trouble with you is that you never stop long enough to ask yourself why." The minute hand stopped suddenly with such force that the Wabbit nearly fell off. He hopped towards the centre. "Careful," said the voice," you'll upset my movement." The Wabbit knew a thing or two about clocks. "You're not moving so fast here in the centre." They paused for thought. "Did you know," said the voice, "that young people aren't being taught to read this kind of clock? Or rather, they can't." Now the Wabbit was astonished. He could read any clock: Atomic clocks, quartz clocks, cuckoo clocks, steam clocks, sundials. The list was almost endless. "We may be living on borrowed time," he quipped.
