Ah, the clock...I've always had a bit of a love/hate thing going on with this clock. It had a shaky start in our lives - while I was studying in Melbourne I saved and saved in order to buy one as a Christmas present for Matt, and had it smuggled to New Zealand (where we were to spend Christmas), only to discover, when I signed for a courier, that he had gone and purchased one for himself, like the week before Christmas. The aspect of this that irked me the most was that I had spent days on foot and on the telephone sourcing one, and had to order it in specially, while he just went to the MOMA website and ordered online. I wasn't as good at the internet as I am now.
More recently, I have gone off the clock as these bastards are selling cheap replicas, and it is actually quite hard to tell the difference. Call me a snob (I won't deny it) but I hate the thought of people visiting our house and thinking we shop at that horrendous store.
So when it fell off the wall and on to the concrete tiles, my heart didn't sink as much as it probably should have. The arms got all bent, and I tried to bend them back, but now it just looks all munted.
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