I’m not sure what the purpose of daylight savings ... whoops dozed off there in the middle of a sentence.

Springing forward in time is never fun, but it’s worse when you have a child.

At 8pm there was still a glimmer of a sunset. We all admired it.

But at 10pm my daughter was still lying in bed singing to herself.

I went into her room to put some clothes away and heard some delicate, little snores. I thought, ‘ah finally’.

Then I almost tripped over the shape on the floor and realised the snores were coming from daddy who had fallen asleep reading to her.

Then came the little voice again singing: “Boom clap the sounds of my heart ...” There were some sturdy claps to illustrate the song. It was pretty clear she wasn’t going to drift off anytime soon.

It’s been four days now since we moved the clocks forward an hour; it should be getting better, but it’s not.

This morning she was wrapped up so tightly in her sheet she looked like an Egyptian mummy.

She grumbled and accused me of child abuse when I tried to drag her out of bed. She was like one of those little sea creatures clamped on a rock; the more I tugged the tighter she hung on.

Normally, the dog licks her eyeball to help me out, but he was still fast asleep. Apparently, dogs don’t do daylight savings time. I don’t blame him.

In the kitchen my husband and I sleepily argued over which one of us was going in there for the 20th time to try to hustle her to the breakfast table. “GET OUT OF BED!” I howled.

Finally, she trundled in moaning, “It’s still dark outside!”

For the rest of the morning, the clock rushed forward not in minute-by-minute increments, but in ten-and 20-minute snatches.

At 8.06am I thought, “I’ll just look at one more cute kitten video on Facebook.”

The next moment it was 8.26am with only a few minutes left before she was late for school.

I do wish time could be just a little less springy.