Clock of memories

In my living room is a clock, it is a clock of many memories. Three years ago my father was a normal man, he cycled to work and back on week days but was always gone at weekends. The reason for this was he worked for secret service; but this was different, he had been gone for three weeks attempting to defeat the mighty Red Snake mutated to be half human.

Before he left he told us always to remember him by the clock that he bought home from his most recent travels to Belgium, were they stayed for a little while.