21:34

He’s crying. And this not for the first time.

Evidently, crying is a baby’s only real means of communication. Doubtless he has tried to wave at me many times, but various walls and staircases have hidden him from view. And so he cries.

With this in mind, we have been mindful not to immediately down tools and attend to his every beck and call, as he must learn that he is safe and secure just where he is. But on this occasion, the wailing has gone on just that bit too long.

This means only one thing – Rock around the clock.

I don’t know why this is. I don’t particularly like this song. I don’t even know the words. I’m in danger of sounding like a good friend of mine who inexplicably mistakes song lyrics for alternative, highly unlikely rhyming words.

And so it is that I find myself singing, “When the clock strikes twelve....... a quarter to seven..... da da da....... doo doo doo doo something eleven, we’re gonna rock.... around... the clock tonight.....” Sung in isolation this has little effect. My conclusion, therefore, is that the boy has rhythm: when accompanied by a few 50’s stamp-like dance movements, with Solomon in my arms and being thrust in different directions, he sees no need to cry at all.

As the last chorus comes to a close, the hummed bass line slows and he is lowered with the volume, eyes closed, into his cot. Sleep. Sleep.

Not for long, as if to make the point that he is the one who will rock around the clock.