The last two days have been reminiscent of the worst excesses of my student days.
Not, I hasten to add, for the consumption of Small Sweet Sherries (for which I was notorious in University) but rather for the multiplicity of experiences packed into a 48 hour period. I well remember the occasion when a group of university friends and I descended on the vulnerable city of London and they urged me, as a habitual London visitor, to take them around. We set off on my punishing cultural hovering up of experiences and, during the day, they all fell by the wayside until I, alone, was still resolutely opening the catalogue for the next exhibition.
Although not quite in that exhausting league I think for sheer variety I do come close to those energy fuelled food denying days.
I started with the Caixa (my new best friend) sponsored exhibition in the Caixa Forum (just down, as you now know, from MNAC) and free, gratis and for nothing.
This exhibition was ‘El Pa Dels Àngels’ (The bread of Angels) was a collection of paintings for the collections of the Uffizi in Florence illustrating the theme of the ‘mystery’ of ‘transubstantiation’ - as a good Anglican atheist you will understand why I feel the need for quotation marks! Such an exhibition does raise expectations given the wealth of masterpieces in the Uffizi’s collections.
I cannot pretend that this exhibition lived up to its poster which boasted a real Botticelli. There were big names here as the subtitle to the exhibition explained, “de Botticelli a Luca Giordano” and there were paintings by Pisano, Parmigianino, Signorelli and Veronese as well – but the feeling from the paintings on view is that the Uffizi has emptied some of its vaults to give an airing to paintings not generally seen. Even the works of the most famous artists do not seem to be important examples of the artists’ brushes.
This is, perhaps, being ungenerous to a most welcome exhibition in Barcelona to complement the meagre holdings of paintings from this period in the city collections.
The overall impression was of second rate art chosen to illustrate a theme rather than paintings which could stand in their own right.
The most interesting picture for me was of a Deposition, a copy of Federico Barocci (1582) which looked as though it could have come fresh from the brush of a Victorian pre-Raphaelite! The details of the painting recall specific British paintings and I am tempted to put this character (of whom I have never heard) into Google to see if any British painters knew him.
The meal in Laie the CaixaForum café restaurant was excellent as usual and it gave me the opportunity to try and bluff my way through the catalogue which was printed in Spanish and Catalan.
A meal in Vilanova in the evening was extraordinary. We were the only people in the restaurant for the whole of the evening, yet the food that we had for a meal under twenty pounds was exceptional. An appetizer of a selection of French cheeses with a glass of Cava followed by a selection of tapas including salad with anchovies, clams with white beans and a selection of cold meats. The main course was paella, followed by a selection of desserts. And coffee. And useful conversation. Productive even!
Today started with my Spanish lesson, but little did I know that in my absence last week (when entertaining my guests) the rampant collection of foreigners learning Spanish with me combined in an unholy alliance to do down the Brit. Our language school has twisted ideas of representation and asks for ‘student’ reps from the hapless learners. What amounts to a full blown conspiracy was hatched in my absence so that when the ‘voting’ for a representative was held I found myself elected to represent my fellow students. So, they now have a fluent monoglot English speaker to communicate with the Spanish and Catalan speaking management. It must make sense to them, but I’m buggered if it does to me.
Fresh from my election I hied me away and dressed in my finest to go to a school in the heights of Barcelona for a ‘talk’ with the head of English. There was no job in the school but this was an exploratory visit on both sides to see if there was a possibility of a job in the future whether I could (or would want to) fill it.
My GPS got me there, but I couldn’t stop or park. The area is full of schools and universities and hospitals and reeks of money. I eventually parked the car in the hospital underground car park where the cost is reckoned in periods of five minutes!
With my fabled sense of direction I was lost within feet of leaving the hospital car park and by the time my (hand held) GPS had indicated my destination I was hot and tired and angry.
I walked into the school (after walking into what was probably a private house on my first attempt!) stopped by no one. I wandered around until I chose a door at random and found a desk with a man talking into the telephone in Spanish. He completely ignored me and continued talking on the phone and turned his back on me. I did the grown up thing and stalked out and chose another entrance.
This one was more productive and I met up with the voice on the telephone. As there was no job this could not be looked on as an interview, but our conversation was extensive and detailed. We agreed about many things and she painted a picture of the school that was realistic. We will have to see if anything comes of this.
After this professional conversation there was just time for me to re programme the GPS to go to a new part of Barcelona. The journey, leading up to rush hour was horrendous with the usual Catalan distain for the common courtesies of road etiquette together with major roadworks adding to the general joy of driving in the Catalan capital.
However I did find my destination and thereby learned the horrible truth about Brompton folding bikes. At more than 900 euros they are not a casual buy. Or, indeed, any sort of buy! I had visions of riding my sedate way along the new prom which has recently been constructed outside our beach gate. I think that a slow walk is more likely now!
Leaving the over priced bike shop I managed to struggle through fully rush hour traffic to the centre of Barcelona and especially work my way from one side of a five lane road to another for one turn and managed to park to join my union demonstration.
The negotiations for 2008’s pay award has stalled with the employers expecting a wholesale diminution of working conditions in return for a rate of inflation increase in wages. Nothing changes!
The ‘demonstration’ was indeed in the centre of Barcelona in the Plaça de Catalunya but was not something to stop the traffic. Our union and affiliates were restricted to a small side street down one side of The Hard Rock Café.
My union rep was there sporting a white tabard with the union name on it and holding a long thin banner (reminiscent of Japanese medieval Samurai films) with a less than convincing air. I was issued with a Catalan flag on a stick with the union initials emblazoned on it and a small plastic whistle. Our demonstration consisted of making a devil of a racket and waving our flags vigorously.
At one point I heard a police siren and looked forward to something interesting happening. I was less than pleased when a man wheeling a pram appeared with a howling machine in it. That incident was the most interesting thing that happened. My photo taking was limited by being one handed – the other one being occupied with waving the flag.
This did not hinder a young lady with a camera sporting a ridiculously elongated lens from taking a series of pictures of me flag waving and blowing my whistle with sublime indifference to her intrusive activities. I feel that my suit and tie might have had something to do with the composition of her photo as I was still dressed from my non interview in the school up the hill.
Eventually the noise subsided; we rolled up the flags and departed with, presumably, a job well done.
Returning home with a take-away was, understandably, something of an anti climax.
I can live with.
Not, I hasten to add, for the consumption of Small Sweet Sherries (for which I was notorious in University) but rather for the multiplicity of experiences packed into a 48 hour period. I well remember the occasion when a group of university friends and I descended on the vulnerable city of London and they urged me, as a habitual London visitor, to take them around. We set off on my punishing cultural hovering up of experiences and, during the day, they all fell by the wayside until I, alone, was still resolutely opening the catalogue for the next exhibition.
Although not quite in that exhausting league I think for sheer variety I do come close to those energy fuelled food denying days.
I started with the Caixa (my new best friend) sponsored exhibition in the Caixa Forum (just down, as you now know, from MNAC) and free, gratis and for nothing.
This exhibition was ‘El Pa Dels Àngels’ (The bread of Angels) was a collection of paintings for the collections of the Uffizi in Florence illustrating the theme of the ‘mystery’ of ‘transubstantiation’ - as a good Anglican atheist you will understand why I feel the need for quotation marks! Such an exhibition does raise expectations given the wealth of masterpieces in the Uffizi’s collections.
I cannot pretend that this exhibition lived up to its poster which boasted a real Botticelli. There were big names here as the subtitle to the exhibition explained, “de Botticelli a Luca Giordano” and there were paintings by Pisano, Parmigianino, Signorelli and Veronese as well – but the feeling from the paintings on view is that the Uffizi has emptied some of its vaults to give an airing to paintings not generally seen. Even the works of the most famous artists do not seem to be important examples of the artists’ brushes.
This is, perhaps, being ungenerous to a most welcome exhibition in Barcelona to complement the meagre holdings of paintings from this period in the city collections.
The overall impression was of second rate art chosen to illustrate a theme rather than paintings which could stand in their own right.
The most interesting picture for me was of a Deposition, a copy of Federico Barocci (1582) which looked as though it could have come fresh from the brush of a Victorian pre-Raphaelite! The details of the painting recall specific British paintings and I am tempted to put this character (of whom I have never heard) into Google to see if any British painters knew him.
The meal in Laie the CaixaForum café restaurant was excellent as usual and it gave me the opportunity to try and bluff my way through the catalogue which was printed in Spanish and Catalan.
A meal in Vilanova in the evening was extraordinary. We were the only people in the restaurant for the whole of the evening, yet the food that we had for a meal under twenty pounds was exceptional. An appetizer of a selection of French cheeses with a glass of Cava followed by a selection of tapas including salad with anchovies, clams with white beans and a selection of cold meats. The main course was paella, followed by a selection of desserts. And coffee. And useful conversation. Productive even!
Today started with my Spanish lesson, but little did I know that in my absence last week (when entertaining my guests) the rampant collection of foreigners learning Spanish with me combined in an unholy alliance to do down the Brit. Our language school has twisted ideas of representation and asks for ‘student’ reps from the hapless learners. What amounts to a full blown conspiracy was hatched in my absence so that when the ‘voting’ for a representative was held I found myself elected to represent my fellow students. So, they now have a fluent monoglot English speaker to communicate with the Spanish and Catalan speaking management. It must make sense to them, but I’m buggered if it does to me.
Fresh from my election I hied me away and dressed in my finest to go to a school in the heights of Barcelona for a ‘talk’ with the head of English. There was no job in the school but this was an exploratory visit on both sides to see if there was a possibility of a job in the future whether I could (or would want to) fill it.
My GPS got me there, but I couldn’t stop or park. The area is full of schools and universities and hospitals and reeks of money. I eventually parked the car in the hospital underground car park where the cost is reckoned in periods of five minutes!
With my fabled sense of direction I was lost within feet of leaving the hospital car park and by the time my (hand held) GPS had indicated my destination I was hot and tired and angry.
I walked into the school (after walking into what was probably a private house on my first attempt!) stopped by no one. I wandered around until I chose a door at random and found a desk with a man talking into the telephone in Spanish. He completely ignored me and continued talking on the phone and turned his back on me. I did the grown up thing and stalked out and chose another entrance.
This one was more productive and I met up with the voice on the telephone. As there was no job this could not be looked on as an interview, but our conversation was extensive and detailed. We agreed about many things and she painted a picture of the school that was realistic. We will have to see if anything comes of this.
After this professional conversation there was just time for me to re programme the GPS to go to a new part of Barcelona. The journey, leading up to rush hour was horrendous with the usual Catalan distain for the common courtesies of road etiquette together with major roadworks adding to the general joy of driving in the Catalan capital.
However I did find my destination and thereby learned the horrible truth about Brompton folding bikes. At more than 900 euros they are not a casual buy. Or, indeed, any sort of buy! I had visions of riding my sedate way along the new prom which has recently been constructed outside our beach gate. I think that a slow walk is more likely now!
Leaving the over priced bike shop I managed to struggle through fully rush hour traffic to the centre of Barcelona and especially work my way from one side of a five lane road to another for one turn and managed to park to join my union demonstration.
The negotiations for 2008’s pay award has stalled with the employers expecting a wholesale diminution of working conditions in return for a rate of inflation increase in wages. Nothing changes!
The ‘demonstration’ was indeed in the centre of Barcelona in the Plaça de Catalunya but was not something to stop the traffic. Our union and affiliates were restricted to a small side street down one side of The Hard Rock Café.
My union rep was there sporting a white tabard with the union name on it and holding a long thin banner (reminiscent of Japanese medieval Samurai films) with a less than convincing air. I was issued with a Catalan flag on a stick with the union initials emblazoned on it and a small plastic whistle. Our demonstration consisted of making a devil of a racket and waving our flags vigorously.At one point I heard a police siren and looked forward to something interesting happening. I was less than pleased when a man wheeling a pram appeared with a howling machine in it. That incident was the most interesting thing that happened. My photo taking was limited by being one handed – the other one being occupied with waving the flag.
This did not hinder a young lady with a camera sporting a ridiculously elongated lens from taking a series of pictures of me flag waving and blowing my whistle with sublime indifference to her intrusive activities. I feel that my suit and tie might have had something to do with the composition of her photo as I was still dressed from my non interview in the school up the hill.
Eventually the noise subsided; we rolled up the flags and departed with, presumably, a job well done.
Returning home with a take-away was, understandably, something of an anti climax.
I can live with.
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