"It was precisely twelve o'clock; twelve by Big Ben; whose smoke was wafted over the northern part of London; blent with that of other clocks, mixed in a thin ethereal way with the clouds and wisps of smoke and died up there amongst the seagulls."

Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

If I’d been on the ball I’d have posted this at twelve o’clock. That’s the last of them, anyway.