The sound of a ticking clock makes me think of childhood, and, at the same time, boredom. Maybe it was the grandfather clock at an old Aunt’s house on a family day which would seem both interminable and a complete waste of time while the rest of the gang were playing football or cricket down the Rec. Such days drag when you’re young. Other things were equally disproportionate, like how far away Saturday was on a Monday morning, or how far away four o’clock was at half past nine. At some point in life, the whole thing turns on its head and the years start to race by. When exactly…