Our bus stop has gone!
Toni went to catch the bus this morning and – nothing! The whole bus stop had gone: shelter, post, sign, people – everything.
And of course no notice, indication or clue about where you might be able to catch a bus, if you were so strangely inclined. He wondered if he should wander up or down the road in search of the peregrinating stop. He eventually opted to go in the direction of Sitges. And there it was. Newly erected: having sprung fully formed like thingamabob from the thigh of Zeus or the mythic Catalan equivalent.
The transport system in Catalonia (at least in our bit) is both wonderful and also god awful.
The total fiasco of the tunnel collapse for the high speed train (a national government project) which was being constructed in the vicinity of Hospitalet – a Barcelona suburb near Castelldefels resulted in the entire area grinding to a halt.
For months trains were unable to get nearer to Barcelona than Gava (the next stop on the line from Castelldefels into Barcelona) and the resultant traffic jams had to be seen to be believed! The political fall out was enormous and the howls of outrage from Catalonia could be heard all over Spain. It was, said all of Catalonia, yet another example of Madrid screwing the Catalans. A national disgrace.
National and local politicians vied with each other as to how much of the television schedules they could monopolise. The resentment rumbles on and the traffic system has not markedly improved.
Crap it might be; but cheap too! Transport into Barcelona (when it was finally re-established by train was free for months for those travelling to the previously affected areas!) And even when you have to pay the trip to Barcelona it costs one tenth of seven euros fifty. That is the cost of a T10 ticket which is valid for ten trips! British cities could learn a thing or two from this!
I am tempted to make a metaphor of the disappearing bus stop and say that it represents, in some ways, attitudes in Spain, or at least in Catalonia. Consumer satisfaction does not rate highly on the agendas of many of the businesses with which I have come into contact. A service or product is provided: buy it if you want to. If you don’t want to: no problem. And we are not that concerned if you don’t come again.
Perhaps it’s something to do with living in a tourist area with a large transient population of gullible pleasure seekers waiting to be fleeced.
That sounds more bitter than I meant it to. I like the people in this area; for the most part they seem reasonable and innocuous – just what a city boy like me wants. Small town chumminess is not what I am used to and I would find it cloying.
Meanwhile back in the asylum the last couple of days have been enlivened for me by a small task that I had been given by the head of the primary section of the school. One of our number is going to get married a week Thursday so I was asked to collect for him.
If I had a pound for each time that I have collected for people in the schools in which I have worked I would be able to retire in comfort at once. I have collected for colleagues in the English Department, colleagues in other departments, office staff, and ancillary workers. In one notable case I was asked by a sadistic chair of the staff room (a post which truck terror into my soul) to collect for the chief dinner lady.
You have to understand that her meals made the feast that Titus Andronicus made for Tamora (look it up) seem positively alluring.
Toni went to catch the bus this morning and – nothing! The whole bus stop had gone: shelter, post, sign, people – everything.
And of course no notice, indication or clue about where you might be able to catch a bus, if you were so strangely inclined. He wondered if he should wander up or down the road in search of the peregrinating stop. He eventually opted to go in the direction of Sitges. And there it was. Newly erected: having sprung fully formed like thingamabob from the thigh of Zeus or the mythic Catalan equivalent.
The transport system in Catalonia (at least in our bit) is both wonderful and also god awful.
The total fiasco of the tunnel collapse for the high speed train (a national government project) which was being constructed in the vicinity of Hospitalet – a Barcelona suburb near Castelldefels resulted in the entire area grinding to a halt.
For months trains were unable to get nearer to Barcelona than Gava (the next stop on the line from Castelldefels into Barcelona) and the resultant traffic jams had to be seen to be believed! The political fall out was enormous and the howls of outrage from Catalonia could be heard all over Spain. It was, said all of Catalonia, yet another example of Madrid screwing the Catalans. A national disgrace.
National and local politicians vied with each other as to how much of the television schedules they could monopolise. The resentment rumbles on and the traffic system has not markedly improved.
Crap it might be; but cheap too! Transport into Barcelona (when it was finally re-established by train was free for months for those travelling to the previously affected areas!) And even when you have to pay the trip to Barcelona it costs one tenth of seven euros fifty. That is the cost of a T10 ticket which is valid for ten trips! British cities could learn a thing or two from this!
I am tempted to make a metaphor of the disappearing bus stop and say that it represents, in some ways, attitudes in Spain, or at least in Catalonia. Consumer satisfaction does not rate highly on the agendas of many of the businesses with which I have come into contact. A service or product is provided: buy it if you want to. If you don’t want to: no problem. And we are not that concerned if you don’t come again.
Perhaps it’s something to do with living in a tourist area with a large transient population of gullible pleasure seekers waiting to be fleeced.
That sounds more bitter than I meant it to. I like the people in this area; for the most part they seem reasonable and innocuous – just what a city boy like me wants. Small town chumminess is not what I am used to and I would find it cloying.
Meanwhile back in the asylum the last couple of days have been enlivened for me by a small task that I had been given by the head of the primary section of the school. One of our number is going to get married a week Thursday so I was asked to collect for him.
If I had a pound for each time that I have collected for people in the schools in which I have worked I would be able to retire in comfort at once. I have collected for colleagues in the English Department, colleagues in other departments, office staff, and ancillary workers. In one notable case I was asked by a sadistic chair of the staff room (a post which truck terror into my soul) to collect for the chief dinner lady.
You have to understand that her meals made the feast that Titus Andronicus made for Tamora (look it up) seem positively alluring.
Not only was her food uniformly disgusting she was also a fairly repulsive character: raucous, unhelpful and vindictive. The task of collecting having been given to me however, I collected assiduously though prefacing my requests for money with a fairly unflattering picture of the hag. I was amazed that people who had loathed her draconian culinary regime of inedible horror still gave me money! They all, bless them, dredged about in their memories and retrieved a small act of gastronomic palatability: an odd sandwich, a reasonable salad or glass of orange juice which might justify a small act of charity now that she was going!At her leaving presentation, when she uncharacteristically simpered her way into the staff room to receive the results of my hard work, she gave a heart stopping little speech. In an unnaturally formal version of the ungrammatical patois she spoke, she thanked us all for our kindness and told us not to worry as she had spoken to the new head chef and “learned her everything I knows!” I hope she took our horrified silence for deep appreciation!
No such reservations about the present colectee and people have been (with a little gentle prompting) most generous. It is strange how comfortable the role of Collector has felt after an unnatural length of time since I have last Taken Round the Envelope.
For a small staff we have raised a respectable amount of money and Margaret has created a truly splendid card which everyone (to the best of my ability) has signed. Margaret could have a lucrative career as designer of extravagant hand made special occasion cards. Thinking about it, the one she has created is more spectacular than merely splendid! It will have to be photographed before it is given lightly to a mere groom!Meanwhile revolution is lurking around the corner. Threats spoken and unspoken are hanging in the air depending on what The Owner decides to do as we run down (!) to the end of term. Our relative powerlessness in the face of autocratic monetary power is pathetic.
Perhaps we will change.
I hope so.
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