Reminds me of Viv Stanshall's Sir Henry at Rawlinson End:
"Hubert was unusual. In his adolescence, during the summer, in a northerly direction parallel to the Earthly axis, he would throw himself naked onto the lawn, and with that loathsome bluey Roman clock face tattooed about his private parts, think about Jean Harlow very hard, and from the shadow cast, tell the time with remarkable accuracy.
"Look! No hands, Aunty!" he would screech.
In the winter, he tried with birthday candles stuck in the end: was hours slow, and Henry told him to put a sock on the sun-dial bit."