This is our cringey yet kitschy-fabulous Canadian clock. To call it thrifted is a bit of a stretch, but it’s a second hand find none-the-less. 

{Enter dream sequence…} a couple of years ago when we lived on the outskirts of Dublin, our neighbour’s mom found this clock on top of their kitchen cupboard. They weren’t too impressed by the overwhelming tack of it, so our neighbour’s son suggested handing it over to my broseph, since we were the Canadians in town. And there it sat. In my brothers room on his couch. For ages. Until I got fed up, took it from him, cleaned it, lovingly stuffed it with batteries and fully appreciated it in all it’s kitschy glory.

I’m not sure of the hands-holding-the-holy-bible and 1993 significance, but it’s got  just the right amount of awfully awesome so it’s staying, gleefully hanging in our bedroom for the time being, reminding me of home. In a weird way.