Stilly, you could do something radical and take your little German clock to a professional watch and clock technician. Such people still exist, and perfectly normal citizens patronize them. Me, for example.

Among my father's endless accumulation of doohickeys was a little traveller's alarm clock in a leather case that folds to make a stand. It's emerald green, with a "gold-tone" face. He bought it for my mother in 1975, indicated by the manufacturer's guarantee still tucked into the back of the case. It had not run for years, possibly decades. Last month, I took it to the watch and clock guy on York Street near the river -- funky little shop full of ticking. The repair cost $150, and the little green clock now ticks gently on my chest of drawers. It has a truly hair-raising alarm, far more effective than the burbling noise my phone makes, and -- of course -- I have to get out of bed to turn it off. Yes, a battery-powered clock would keep better time. Yes, I could use my phone. But I still think I didn't waste my money getting the little green clock repaired.

A pair of corduroy trousers that I bought from Land's End, through their website, arrived yesterday. Woo-hoo, winter trousers! But no, at size 12, they're miles too big. (Size 12 at Land's End is considerably bigger than size 12 at LL Bean.) But now I have to figure out how to exchange them for the same thing in size 10 -- not an easy thing to accomplish from Canada. The Land's End website awaits: I must plumb its depths to find the elusive Customer Service page. I may take some time ... Don't wait up.