Calculations!

There is no way that we have been in school only since Wednesday.  Why, oh why is it that a mid-week start never seems as easy as it should be with a couple of days less?  Not that I am asking for all mid-week starts to be abandoned, you understand.  I am not that stupid, but it is a psychological problem worthy of ig-Nobel research!

Today, rain is forecast – but true to form the weather actually looks relatively fine.  This is usually just one of god’s little tricks to build up my expectations and then cruelly dash them when I finally get out of school and find vindictive rain spitting at the windscreen.

After my over-long, meeting filled day yesterday, I am looking forward to the relatively early release today when I flee at the start of lunchtime.  Admittedly, lunchtime starts at the unearthly time of two o’clock, but there is still a long afternoon (courtesy of official summer time) to relish.

Part, probably a substantial part of the weekend will have to be taken up with a more systematic form of revision than I have been doing heretofore.  I have highlighted words and phrases, now I have to bring them together into a more coherent listing of the OU “official” language that must be used in the answers.

Julie’s flat was excellent; a wonderful buy and very well done up.  Good position and something which will prove to be an excellent investment.  We had lunch in a restaurant in Sitges that we have passed time after time, but never actually eaten in.  The meal was €15 and very good.  The drinks afterwards were in another place that we have passed and never patronized – another discovery.

Watching television in Spain nowadays is almost unbearable as various self appointed experts vie with each other to shout down everything that they say about the systemic corruption which is displayed for our derision each night.  Each new piece of information damns yet more of the establishment so that an unbiased viewer begins to think that the entire system is corrupt.  Which it might well be.

It is something of a relief to turn to revision and I have decided to use Excel to facilitate my organization of key words and phrases using the different aspects of our study to link the ideas together.  Well, it’s working in my mind and tomorrow I will try and make it some sort of reality.  If my method does work then it will be an approach that I will adopt for future modules in my continuing study.

And it’s almost Sunday, the day before the start of a full week of work!

I don’t quite know what happened to the evening of Saturday, but a little snooze turned into a full sleep and suddenly it was the next day!

The weather forecast threatened rain and sun, but what we have had is sun and wind.  It was possible to lay oneself out on the Third Floor but this afternoon it was something of an ordeal as the gusts of wind reminded one that this was April and not June!

The new Excel revision has started and I am gathering in the OU’s language to sprinkle on my answers when I come to do the exam.  The exam or should I say The Exam is now near enough for the jokes to stop and for it to be taken seriously.  There are now two weeks to go and that now seems a remarkably short time.  On Thursday there is our last tutorial which I am steeling myself against, as I fear it is going to contain barely supressed hysteria about the forthcoming trial.  It is a sad fact that the more the OU tries to reassure its students about the examination the more the students feel bereft of hope and confidence!

I am aiming to “enjoy” the examination “experience” but I fear that this laudable attitude will have been destroyed long before I put pen to paper in The British Council!  It shows how sad I am that I have bought two new disposable fountain pens just for this occasion!

I have ten more weeks in school; two and a half months – and then I am done.  Ten weeks is fifty teaching days – minus May Day and a day for the Second Easter (don’t ask), so 48 teaching days.  It sounds much more doable when it is put like that!

Doesn’t it?

Days pass

The threatening clouds, dark, menacing and filled with rain prompted me to take in the sun bed from the Third Floor last night on my return from getting my glasses in Sitges.  The lowering (really the only word to use) cloud cover over Barcelona was almost biblical in its portentousness and I had visions of a rain soaked, mould covered cushion inviting me into its slimy grasp when I next found time to relax with my favourite star.

This morning, the first day back in school after our ludicrously short break, is of course gloriously sunny – just the sort of underhand, cheap jibe that one would expect from a recently resurrected god bullying hard-pressed professionals!  Our misery is exponentially expanded by the fact that the hot-water machine is not working and I wasted a hand-made teabag in what turned out to be cold, milky water.  Cruelty can go no further.  And we have to teach.  All day!

Our next time off is May Day and then the so-called Second Easter later in the same month.  Hardly enough to compensate for the derisory and fleeting so-called holiday we have just whizzed through.  But the month of May is next to the month of June and that month marks my departure.  In faith and fear!

Having just visited our tutor group forum I sense a little edginess in our tutor’s comments about the non-return of the work that we have done.  According to my calculations she has until the 5^th of April to return the work to keep to the timetable of the OU, so she still has time and is on course.

In fact the work was returned later that day (the rigors of getting back to school took its toll and I could do little more than bask in the wonder of my essay and watch the TV when I got back) and I wrote a lickspittle email to the tutor to thank her!  There are no depths that I have not plumbed.

The continuous assessment part of the course is now over and psychologically I can now prepare myself for the exam – which frankly cannot come too soon.  Toni also had a tutor-assessed piece of work back yesterday as well so we went out to La Fusta and downed a bottle of Cava to celebrate our joint success!

But this morning is a grey reality of a five period morning – though the sky is trying to turn blue and confound the prognostications of rain for today.

As term has started I have resolved to get back to my swimming and yesterday, after debating with myself during the whole of the drive back from The School on the Hill, I found that the car had driven itself to the pool and so I had a fairly leisurely swim in which there was more breast stroke than normal in the lengths.  Today it must be crawl, crawl all the way – and thus normality is re-established.

On Saturday we are going to see Julie’s Sitges flat: bought from a bank and refurbished, a nice little pied a terre, and a foothold in a place where, eventually Julie would like to settle.  It will be very interesting to see what the money can buy and it will give me food for thought.  Though prices will have to fall much further before I can think about buying anywhere halfway reasonable in this country!

Another bloody day!  And this time a meeting.  A meeting!  I went to a meeting!  The whole day destroyed!

And it’s still not the weekend.

More sun!

Here in Castelldefels we have been afflicted over the past few days with the Five O’clock Cloud Syndrome.

This refers to the continent sized cloud which appears at the stated time each afternoon in an otherwise flawlessly blue sky and blocks the sun’s rays to the terrace of The Third Floor.  Having established its presence it then breaks up into an archipelago of island sized clumps which then taunt the sun seeker by giving a brief glimpse of the burning star and then hiding its light as another island, trailing a foam of hazy rolling breakers, sweep into place to block the vitamin giving rays.

At least here in Catalonia the cloud does move and not, as I remember from my youth, stubbornly stay in place vindictively keeping you in shadow while taunting you with the view of unlimited sunshine everywhere but where you were.  Or was that merely the view of a jaundiced, very young sandcastle builder, I wonder!

This is the last day of what was laughingly called our Easter Holiday.  The “holiday” consisted of seven working days of which two were Bank Holidays, so the school has actually allowed just five working days for the “holiday”.  I am not sure what that shows, but I think it demonstrates a woeful lack of rest time for hard working teachers.  I am just glad that I did not realize on the Friday afternoon of the start of the Easter “holiday” period that the time off was so limited.  The way of ignorance kept me blissfully ignorant of my lack of space while I enjoyed a specious spaciousness of apparent freedom!  Sometimes ignorance is the only thing that keeps us sane!

After being told that our OU work would be returned to us “at some time” during the weekend one of my fellow tutees wrote in a guileless question on one of the Forums asking if she had been overlooked for the return of the material.  Our tutor has responded by saying that the work will be returned in two batches of which the first will be up “soon”. 

She should realize that she is not dealing with happy-go-lucky students in the relaxed environment of a university but crazed monomaniacs who centre part of their paranoia on responses from distant academics!  She is living dangerously – though I have to admit that we who live in the far flung parts of continental Europe are hardly likely to make the trip to the North of England to confront her! 

Still, I too would like my work back so that the part of the course which takes in TMAs can be safely put aside and I can concentrate on the forthcoming examination.

The miserable rituals of professional preparation are now complete: my shoes are polished; my shirts set out; shocks and pants are checked; trousers are hanging; my Munch tie is ready to be worn and the bloody alarm is set.

The onset of Summer Time means that I will be getting up in the dark again, but each new day should be that little bit lighter than the last and waking up to the light means that the end of term is drawing inexorably closer. 

And we all know what that means.

In spite of widespread scepticism, I am determined to turn my back on full-time education for ever and look towards the shining example of my Uncle Eric who, as I never tire of telling people, has now been retired for longer than he was teaching!  Sigh of unmixed admiration!

At least I have got my proper glasses back.  A telephone call at quarter to eight in the evening informed me that the glasses had been returned to the optician in Sitges – and I was also informed that the shop closed at eight-thirty.  Needless to say I immediately sprang to the car and retrieved my glasses well within the opening time.

The replacement of the very thin arm which had snapped cost €75!  Dear god!  Yet again I realise that I chose the wrong profession.

Talking of which – time for bed, because I have to get up so early in the morning.  For a whole day (!) of work.

Roll on the weekend.

Memory lasts

A short visit from old friends gives living meaning to the term oxymoron.  You slip back easily into the old routines of ritually shared responses and memories and the comfortable intimacy of lazy allusion – and then it is all snatched away as the plane takes off.  Bitter sweet, indeed!  And the telephone is no compensation!

Still, August will see them back and a longer stay will soften the blow of departure!

The sun has come out again to emphasise what Brits are missing and even the blustery wind of the past few days has died.  As indeed, as each quiet morning reminds us, has the dog next door.

The trauma of seeing the little body in the pool has not lessened, though the unreality of it all has tempered the emotion.  We should feel some guilt as we have been praying for the death of the yapping monstrosity on a daily basis.  If you had been irritated for as long as we had by its moronic baying then even its crippled state would have failed to move you when gazing at its watery tranquillity.  And it is that tranquillity, that precious silence that we now savour.  This morning it was the alarm that woke us up not the serial irritation of a doggy dawn chorus!  And that is something for which we have been longing for years!  Obviously we regret the manner of the dog’s death – but the fact of it is something that continues to delight us.  Silence is indeed golden!

Toni has done some cleaning and it is as if the Pauls have never been here – which makes the opening sentiments feel all the more poignant.  There is a tasty reminder in the fridge however: the remains of the Spanish Chicken.  This was a success (though not, according to Paul 1 as much of a success as when it was made in Britain) and packed a hefty spicy punch to go with meat falling from the bone.  That’s our lunch taken care of!  Well, as it turned out, my lunch taken care of

Tomorrow lunch is in Terrassa, then a pre-school day and a mid-week start.  And then it is all downhill to June.  Which seems in the far distance.  And indeed is!

Lunch today, Monday, was excellent with home made meatballs and disgraceful cakes of unlimited calories.  The Cava seemed positively frugal compared with the displays of ostentatious confection with which we were surrounded.

The kids had demanded and got their custom made Easter monas by their long suffering aunt painstakingly making cartoon figures of each of the kids holding a football trophy – and all edible.

They had other chocolate constructions of which the most flamboyant was dedicated to FC Barça and, given that a pathetic piece of chocolate with an unconvincing mini image of Messi was €20 in Carrefour, the one the kids were given must have cost three figures!  It looked impressive with conventional cup, football ground, Barça badge etc, but it was just as well that I wasn’t told the price because I want to go to sleep this evening and not spend the night brooding about how deprived a childhood I had!

There is something soul numbingly horrific about a family getting out photo albums when that family is not really yours, with photos relating to a time when you didn’t know a single member of it.  Even with the safety net of a smart phone with readable books on it, it's a fragile sort of patience that one holds on to.

The wedding video was an added extra about which I want to say little, except that it was interesting seeing people who are no longer part of the family playing an integral part in the festivities.

The camera work was individualistic held by one who had apparently recently been informed of the invention of a process which could take likenesses of things.  The main intent of the camera person seemed to take out of focus images of people who were not the main participants.  By that criteria it was a resounding success!

The journey home was strangely quiet as I suppose that the bulk of people had already arrived home as most people are back in work on Tuesday.  We have an extra day (which I was informed was illegal by Toni’s brother in law – sour grapes!) that will be used to get clothes ready and tell the agents about the dead dog.

And where are my glasses?  I hate the ones that I am wearing at the moment, they feel like lead after the lightness of the optical example of “less is more” – much, much more that my old glasses represent in their wispy costliness!

And, further and, I have not had my last OU TMA sent back and it was promised for the weekend.

Just one damn thing after another!