The Opera That Never Was

Yesterday in a suspiciously easy approach to Barcelona where there were no real holdups I arrived one and a half hours early for the opera.  I was in no mood for a meal (having had a more than excellent lunch) and so I decided to go to the Liceu shop and see if there were any bargains to be had.

The shop was oddly quiet but I thought that would give me extra opportunities to find a programme and read the synopsis before the performance started without having to buy the extortionately priced programme.

What performance? 

I finally realized that I had made all the effort of driving into the city to see one of the cancelled operas.  I withdrew in good order and attempted to phone Toni to share my shame.  I was informed by my phone that I was “not registered on the network”; which means that the sim card needed to be taken out and cleaned.  Which I did three times.  Nothing.  I cut my losses and left the subterranean shop (which may have had something to do with my lack of recognition) and ventured outside.

Where I got an immediate signal and was able to phone home. 

Toni’s first words were about food and his suggestion was that I go to KFC and get one of the buckets of whatever it is they sell.  As it happened, as I was having this conversation, I was actually standing directly opposite the aforementioned fast food joint.  Toni has had an inexplicable yearning for a KFC for ages and I was inclined to indulge him to hide the pointlessness of my journey to the city.

After carefully checking to see that there was no one I knew walking on the Ramblas I scurried across to the “restaurant” and bought a bucket for two.  My attitude towards this establishment may be gauged by my always referring to it rather cleverly as Kentucky Fried Shit, and the warmed up “food” which we finally consumed while not so objectionable as excrement was bland to the point of boredom. 

To be fair I do not remember it being quite so innocuously easy to dismiss when I ate it from time to time in Cardiff.  Perhaps the recipe was spiced up a bit for the Brits and smoothed out for the Catalans.  Whatever, I will not be tempted back again.

The non-opera did mean that I had time to look for my tie on my return to the house.  It is a proud tradition of mine, stretching back over a number of years that I mark the awfulness of the start of each school term by the wearing of my Munch tie of the screaming man – and it is just as much of a tradition that I spend hours looking for the bloody thing the night before the first day of term.  Last night was no exception.

As usual my frantic searching did manage to unearth various things that I had forgotten that I had lost including, strangely, a mug of clear, light brown liquid perched demurely on a napkin on the tops of a row of books.  The small islands of bacterial growth suggested that it had been there for a period of time.  Shame on me – especially as I had taken books form the shelf opposite and noticed nothing!

The missing tie was eventually found lurking underneath a coat on the hooks at the top of the stairs which suggests that on the last first day of term (if you see what I mean) I must have been more than eager to rip the rags of my profession from my resentful body.  Today I must be careful to place the tie in the Special Ties Box which I inaugurated some time ago in a futile attempt to lessen the number of hours wasted in fruitless searching.  As if!  When else am I likely to bring to the surface a mini tape dispenser with eight gaily-coloured rolls of tape to feed it?

I had forgotten just how bad the driving was on the motorways in the morning.  I am sure that this is not restricted to Barcelona, but I am sure that the motorcyclists (whom even kamikaze drivers find unsettling) add a horror to the experience which is particularly Catalan.

The breaking news in the staff room was that one of our colleagues had been sacked after all the teachers had left on the last day of last term.  This was astonishing news as there was no indication that this sacking was being considered!  People are confused and slightly fearful at what appears to be a high handed action.

I have written to my sacked colleague and offered him what support I can, but he will have to take the next steps to get what he considers justice.  It has made a number of colleagues consider their positions with a degree of concern.  As well they might!  The whole affair cast a pall over the first day of term which, let’s face it, was pretty depressing as it was!

I did go for a swim after work and I am beginning to wonder about when constant fiddling with the waterproof earphones has to be considered a failure rather than a work in progress.  At the moment I am barely getting a length out of the things before the music stops in one or other ear.  I think that I will have to concentrate on swimming rather than music appreciation!

And tomorrow, although an early start is one day nearer to the weekend so life is not entirely bad!