The superstitious don’t need much to cross their fingers or toss salt over their shoulder. As they deftly avoid a black cat crossing their path, they are grateful for anything the universe throws them by way of coincidences, synchronicity, sneezes. They start every year marking the calendar and watching the clock with quivering excitement. No date, no time, no full moon, no eclipse escapes their feverish eye.
Wishing on a shooting star, going squint-eyed with joy at the dot of eleven minutes past 11 o’ clock, referred to breathlessly in certain covens simply as 11:11 for its abracadabra tick-tock, folks are forever circling this date, counting down to that hour. Crowding this numeral-crazed cosmos are the dates on which the minute hands and second hands coincide not only with each other, as they must at some point on their routine march-past, but also with whatever the calendar has to say that day.
Looking forward to twenty-two minutes past ten tomorrow evening - 22.22 on 22.2.22 - it’ll be just too too exciting
— Stephen Fry (@stephenfry) February 21, 2022
Don’t forget the extra 22 seconds to make: