We are not a nation of accurate timepieces. My life is a daily struggle to balance the twin influences of my wristwatch and phone clock, three minutes slow and one minute fast respectively. I spend my mornings wavering between obeying these two, all the while trying to ignore the kitchen clock (at least seven minutes fast).
Eventually I make a loose decision, invariably the wrong one, and sprint for my bus. When I climb on after ten minutes confused waiting, I find the bus’s red LEDs read about five minutes slow. Over the course of the trip I naturally forget this, and find myself unjustifiably relaxed on my walk into work.
Last week the bus clock ran five minutes fast, and only my ignorance about the kitchen one saved me. On Friday I discovered that the time in my work computer reads six minutes slow, and had to sprint the last 100 metres to catch the approaching bus.
Of course, any one of these times could be correct. How would I know? I once set my watch off an atomic clock via the Internet, but eventually had to undo it I was so at odds with the world around me.
Time is analogue. Missing my bus is a somewhat more binary experience.