BST and pavement cyclists: The list lengthens . . . .

Nothing perturbs The B quite like the clocks changing.....

Thanks a lot, British Summer Time.
For screwing up all our regular routines and sleeping patterns.
For causing confusion (The G) and prompting panic (The B).
For these reasons - and for the infuriating fact that, in this technological age, we're still forced to engage in a practice as archaic as this - BST has been added to the official @homedad annals of annoyance.
This, an ever-lengthening list comprising eclectic irritants that include Health Visitors, bubble mix and Annabel Karmel.
Joining BST as newcomers on the list are one or two other pet hates that include:
People smoking in playgrounds (this requires no explanation), the term 'Mumpreneur', and the manner in which The G chooses to eat cheese on toast (using her teeth to tear off the cheese like a ravenous dinosaur, devouring it in a furious fashion and then leaving the shredded toast for me to dispose of).
I detest the ever-increasing amounts of dog poo that can be found on our pavements.
That this fascinates The B&G both is something I find rather disturbing.
There is just one thing worse than a person who leaves their dog's doings on the pavement, and that's someone who bags it up and then leaves it on the pavement.
It's something I can't explain to myself, let alone two quizzical pre-schoolers.
Cyclists on pavements, that's another annoyance, in particular the ones who feel the need to ding their silly little bells upon their approach and - even worse - those who use pedestrian crossings.
The clue here is in the name, cyclists. You're NOT pedestrians. They're NOT for you.
Cars parked on pavements that force parents to push their buggies and shepherd small children into the road in order to pass, that never fails to frustrate.
Likewise, people who give me suspicious looks when I use the parent-and-child spaces at the supermarket. Go ahead, check the back seats. I have all the qualifications.
I'm no great fan of the long winter months that make childcare an even greater challenge than normal, the 306 (The B's favourite bus route it might be, mine it is not) and bad children's books that have, for inexplicable reasons, made it into print.
Post Play-Doh hands (for that authentic corpse feel), establishments that have baby changing facilities in the ladies' toilets but not the men's (it still annoys me, even if it doesn't affect me these days) and anyone unable to grasp the concept that swim nappies are just that - nappies - and are designed to be used beneath a regular swimming costume.
I could go on, but I feel I should stop.
Blood pressure, and all that . . . .