My first day of sackedness. And a time for reflection.
To commemorate this momentous readjustment in my employment status I have planted a dead cactus on the balcony. The cactus was brought in by one of my students and, as is the way with things in the relentless curriculum for primary children, was promptly forgotten. With cacti this is not necessarily fatal, but even they demand cursory attention. Which we did not lavish on it. It is a dead cactus – and all the rest of the Monty Python script.
I felt that planting a dead cactus from school was a deeply symbolic act with dark, mysterious, ritualistic overtones. The metaphorical implications are almost overwhelming, and I’m not sure that I can be bothered to work them out.
If some part of the latent DNA of the cactus is reactivated by moist soil then the metaphor becomes even more complex and even less open to interpretation!
After my onerous task was completed I settled down on the balcony to a pot (glass; Zara Home) of tea
To commemorate this momentous readjustment in my employment status I have planted a dead cactus on the balcony. The cactus was brought in by one of my students and, as is the way with things in the relentless curriculum for primary children, was promptly forgotten. With cacti this is not necessarily fatal, but even they demand cursory attention. Which we did not lavish on it. It is a dead cactus – and all the rest of the Monty Python script.
I felt that planting a dead cactus from school was a deeply symbolic act with dark, mysterious, ritualistic overtones. The metaphorical implications are almost overwhelming, and I’m not sure that I can be bothered to work them out.
If some part of the latent DNA of the cactus is reactivated by moist soil then the metaphor becomes even more complex and even less open to interpretation!
After my onerous task was completed I settled down on the balcony to a pot (glass; Zara Home) of tea
(Rington’s ‘Two Cup’ industrial strength; Victoria) and gazed at the empty beach and the gently rippling sea. The horizon is a line of dirty blue and just above it the sky is a smudge of the spectrum comprising what Robert Graves described in ‘Welsh Incident’ as ‘mostly nameless’ colours. The rest of the sky is of that perfect sky blue that the sky rarely is. The flawless quality of the heavens is mildly flawed by a few impertinent scraps of cloud making their lazy way to the hills behind Castelldefels. Moments like this are part of the reason that I am here. Sigh!
I have decided that The Owner did not sack me - sorry, refuse to renew my contract – because of my radical tendencies. I fear that the real reason was gross moral turpitude.
I should explain. The room where I used to teach (please note the past tense!) had glass on two sides and therefore, with the weakest ray of sunshine, heated up to the level of an oven on gas mark 5.
A primary class is like a cup of tea: Brownian Motion
observable through the busy, erratic movement of young bodies going about their versions of teacher inspired tasks!It is impossible to stay static in this confusing melee and you, as a teacher, have to act as conductor, instructor and traffic light. This is activity. Activity within an oven. Bending, twisting and reaching it is inevitable that one’s shirt becomes less than securely trapped (as it should be) behind the stern constriction of one’s belt.
Re establishing sartorial equilibrium necessitates a sharp indrawn breath and a swirl of hands to return the wayward shirt tails to their proper position.
A few days ago, while harassed and hectored beyond comprehension by a more than usually complex pupil task which used card, paper, sticks, pencils, glue, scissors and virtually every other piece of material in the class, my shirt again skittishly emerged from its constraints. Multi tasking (as a mere man) is an onerous task and so while talking, walking, encouraging and mediating, I took a more than usually enthusiastic breath in to facilitate the return of the shirt tails. And my trousers fell down!
It is, and was the stuff of second rate British comedies; and here it was taking place in Catalonia!
It was but the movement of a second to return the trousers to their proper station and re-establish a modicum of decorum. But there are a couple of impressionable girls who glimpsed this comic slip with amazed delight and I am sure will retain the memory for some considerable time!
It is a tribute to the relentless voracity for incident of the young that this (admittedly) extraordinary incident, after a momentary flurry of excitement, was forgotten. How different from the home life of our own dear secondary school where such an occurrence would have provided the basis for anecdote, abuse and contempt for generations!
Today I have to go to Terrassa to see the new born pretender to the throne of adulation presently occupied by Toni’s older nephew. He has got a shock coming to him. I don’t think that he has fully realised that he has a brother, let alone someone else is going to be living with him and taking part of the attention which was one wholly his!
I also have to call into Bluespace and store some of the stuff that I have been using in school. I feel like paraphrasing William Pitt the Younger and saying, “Roll up those materials they will not be wanted these ten years!”
If only.
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