I never really know whether to be appalled or uplifted by seeing a ranting fascist dictator meekly (surrounded by television cameras and military security) plodding his way around an ancient stone building of which the claimed provenance is questionable to say the least. Such vainglorious parading of meekness (seven times around counter clockwise and a little stone throwing) is at best nauseating and at worst cynical justification for the most perniciously repressive views.
I feel the same repulsion for the self lacerating piety that motivates some of the pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago as they crawl their bloody way to the door of the cathedral on bleeding knees.
Strange gods indeed that these people have created!
Today was a day of almost work. I joined a class of youngsters that I am going to be taking for two hours a week to improve their English. The money is risible, but the contract that I will sign will give me the fabled Number which will mean that I exist as far as all government agencies in Spain are concerned.
Just to complicate things I yesterday received a missive from the Generalitat enclosing a health card with a Number on it! Which I should not have until I have worked. Strange are the ways of Spanish and Catalan bureaucracy!
Today I visited my exiled books.
They need assuring from time to time that I have not lost them from the care of my memory. They languish in my cramped storage space which is too small for me to sort them. With the advent of my new keyboard I went in search of the music which I knew that I had had packed.
I have to admit that was just an excuse. I really wanted to find the rest of my art books and some more of the more esoteric non fiction.
I have also convinced myself that I can capitalise on the care which my packers took in boxing shelf by shelf, rather than mixing the books indiscriminately. The normal procedure is to fill the available space in each packing case with a selection of books that fit. My packers filled the space with waste paper packing. I therefore reasoned that, were I to go through the boxes and repack them more fully then I would be able to cut down on the number of boxes, give myself some space in which to operate, and find the books that I want.
After only a few hours work I have managed to create a space in which I can stand. You have to have seen the way in which the space was crammed to appreciate the achievement of this!
My expensive storage facility is one of those places of endless corridors with identical yellow roll top doors. It also gives you the facility to act the messianic progress of that bloke in the TV advert who, as he walks along, his mere presence turns on lights. As you walk along dark corridors they magically lighten and this prompts you (well, me) to take a few detours to your ‘room’ just to experience the power of a sort of ‘prepare ye the way’ feeling.
Except in my corridors and by my room, where darkness reigns supreme. There is something touchingly sad in staring through the gloom to find hidden treasures: two volumes of the Gormenghast trilogy, a few of the Great Museums of the World, a few more books of quotations;
the two volume photographically reduced Oxford English Dictionary; my music books (gosh! That I really did not expect); a few cookery books (including Angela’s); more poetry books and few addictive Nigel Rees productions – good for the loo!
And what is left is a three deep ten high wall of boxes. I now have a mission, which is to go through the cases and take the jewels out. Unfortunately my library is now in a quid pro quo position: anything I bring from storage will need a corresponding sacrifice from my present shelves.
The future promises to be pure torture!
I feel the same repulsion for the self lacerating piety that motivates some of the pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago as they crawl their bloody way to the door of the cathedral on bleeding knees.
Strange gods indeed that these people have created!
Today was a day of almost work. I joined a class of youngsters that I am going to be taking for two hours a week to improve their English. The money is risible, but the contract that I will sign will give me the fabled Number which will mean that I exist as far as all government agencies in Spain are concerned.
Just to complicate things I yesterday received a missive from the Generalitat enclosing a health card with a Number on it! Which I should not have until I have worked. Strange are the ways of Spanish and Catalan bureaucracy!
Today I visited my exiled books.
They need assuring from time to time that I have not lost them from the care of my memory. They languish in my cramped storage space which is too small for me to sort them. With the advent of my new keyboard I went in search of the music which I knew that I had had packed.
I have to admit that was just an excuse. I really wanted to find the rest of my art books and some more of the more esoteric non fiction.
I have also convinced myself that I can capitalise on the care which my packers took in boxing shelf by shelf, rather than mixing the books indiscriminately. The normal procedure is to fill the available space in each packing case with a selection of books that fit. My packers filled the space with waste paper packing. I therefore reasoned that, were I to go through the boxes and repack them more fully then I would be able to cut down on the number of boxes, give myself some space in which to operate, and find the books that I want.
After only a few hours work I have managed to create a space in which I can stand. You have to have seen the way in which the space was crammed to appreciate the achievement of this!
My expensive storage facility is one of those places of endless corridors with identical yellow roll top doors. It also gives you the facility to act the messianic progress of that bloke in the TV advert who, as he walks along, his mere presence turns on lights. As you walk along dark corridors they magically lighten and this prompts you (well, me) to take a few detours to your ‘room’ just to experience the power of a sort of ‘prepare ye the way’ feeling.
Except in my corridors and by my room, where darkness reigns supreme. There is something touchingly sad in staring through the gloom to find hidden treasures: two volumes of the Gormenghast trilogy, a few of the Great Museums of the World, a few more books of quotations;
the two volume photographically reduced Oxford English Dictionary; my music books (gosh! That I really did not expect); a few cookery books (including Angela’s); more poetry books and few addictive Nigel Rees productions – good for the loo!And what is left is a three deep ten high wall of boxes. I now have a mission, which is to go through the cases and take the jewels out. Unfortunately my library is now in a quid pro quo position: anything I bring from storage will need a corresponding sacrifice from my present shelves.
The future promises to be pure torture!
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