Compelled by his sense of inquisitiveness, my husband is a tinkerer by inclination. And clocks fascinate him. Clocks that is of an elderly disposition, augmented by the authenticity of not only chronicling time but the elaborate elements of aesthetic appeal which they represent in their design. A half-century of scrutiny and handling, acquisition and appreciation has given him some idea of how such venerable treasures should be viewed and cared for, including mechanically.

From time to time he will go about winding up these clocks and then we're treated to an orchestration of ambient sound, from the regularity of tick-tocking to the musical notes of Westminster chimes and everything in between. And from time to time one or the other of his collection will balk and decide that it's worked hard enough over the years, no longer willing to continue.

That's when my husband applies his limitless patience to encouraging that recalcitrant clock that since it was made to tell the time it should take ongoing pride in that capacity and continue working as it should. When I view the countless hours he will devote to picking apart the constituents of the moving parts, prodding them delicately, observing carefully as they either balk or respond to slight adjustments, I wonder at the sheer quiet determination and never-ending focus of  attention these mechanical time-pieces exert from my husband.

It's true to say that his patience and capacity for indulging whatever it takes to cope with problems with an eye to overcoming them extends far beyond clocks or other mechanical devices. It is his way with life, one of many characteristics that claim my respect for this man.