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Sunday, March 04, 2012

Anticipation officially starts.


A fine morning but a mediocre afternoon.  Luckily the cleaning of the Third Floor took place in bright sunshine and, for the first time this winter/spring I shed my jeans for a pair of shorts.  (Though I have to say that

As is typical for a sunny weekend, the entire population of Barcelona (and surrounding districts) to come to Castelldefels and leave their city ways of driving and parking at the town boundaries and revert to a far more feral mode of motoring.  Doing a little light shopping before the purchase of lunch for our usual barbecue place was the perfect way to undergo the baptism of fire on the roads!

A modicum of order has been imposed on the terrace of the Third Floor and even the adjoining room has visible patches of floor space!  Tidying up can go little further than that!

The week to come has been poisoned by the fact that we are going to have one of our almost completely pointless meetings.  On Saturday.  Why we are having it on Saturday is beyond my comprehension.  And why the teachers are allowing the management to suggest, let alone actually have this meeting on a weekend is truly beyond belief. 

I have tried suggesting to colleagues that they ask the requisite members of staff to change the absurd day but they have been less than enthusiastic than I would have liked, so I spoke to the head of the appropriate section of the school and his response was one of exasperation.  He agreed with me that it was not a good day to have the meeting, but suggested that, in spite of his representations, the management were insistent that it be kept on the Saturday.  Why?  No answer.

As far as I can tell, all the work for this meeting will have been done before it.  Comments will have been sent to tutors electronically.  Marks will have been entered electronically.  We then waste time looking at projections of what we have done and decide nothing.  A complete waste of time.  In a meeting which does not stick to timetables and one which never has an agenda.  Unprofessional rubbish.  On a Saturday.  Un-bloody-believable!

To keep myself sane I have worked out that there are ten working days to our “long weekend” when we have a Monday off.  There are nineteen days to our next proper holiday at Easter and then I did not have the courage to work out the number of working days to the end of the year. 

It is sort-of true that as soon as we are into the summer term there is a perceptible running-down of things, and we do finish the course for the kids a week before the end of term.  And then I am off to France.

This is how one gets through a year: working one’s way slowly from event to even to retain one’s sanity.

I am looking forward to seeing Brian, that will give the beginning of the week a boost.  And perhaps make me forget the crime which is waiting to be perpetrated at the end of the week!

Ah well.
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