The hands of time.

When my Dad was alive he had always wanted to own a grandmother clock, and we tool him to a lot of shops trying to find one that he liked. He decided on this one, and it took pride of place in his home. Before he passed away, he said that he was leaving the clock to me for looking after him, and it now takes pride of place in our home. The strange thing is, every few months, sometimes more, we wake up to find that it has stopped at the time you see above. Always at the exact same time. I find it very strange, but  somehow comforting. Maybe my Dad is sending us a message, who knows. 
We are waiting for the gas engineer to call, but no news, as yet. 
Update. the engineer has arrived and work is going ahead.