For what seems like the umpteenth time in succession the weekend dawns dull. Not only dull, but it actually has had the temerity to rain!
This is a problem.
A problem which touches the very (in both senses) socialist soul which I am fairly sure that I used to have at some point in the past – I think. Today has been set aside by my Union (the CCOO) for a demonstration in the centre of Barcelona for which I have received more than one email from my mate in the Union and who I feel I would be letting down if I did not attend.
But it’s raining!
As you see I hardly fit easily into the role of a Tolpuddle Martyr. But I do see my way to creating a strategy which will encourage my sun loving self to do the right thing.
I am prepared to bet that in the crowd watching Wales play Scotland at Murrayfield when I last attended the match, there was only one person in that multitude who, while cheering on Wales (in a match which we won incidentally) was clutching the catalogue raisonné of the National Gallery of Scotland under his arm! I think that a similar inclusivity can be adopted in this case combining Power to the People with Paintings for the Patricians. It is a long time since I have wound my way up the steps and escalators of Monjuïc to have a more than decent meal in the first floor restaurant and incidentally look at the paintings that I am getting to know pretty well. I am sure that my sense of working responsibility and cultural thirst can both be satisfied in a judiciously spaced visit to the capital.
This demonstration is not in My Barcelona. This is designation of those bits which I know. God knows My London is small enough stretching as it does from the Royal Academy in Piccadilly, to the electronic and book stores in the Tottenham Court Road and stretching down to the South Bank and reaching east to the Barbican, that morass of modern buildings and lost culture vultures!
My Barcelona is even smaller and is basically restricted to Las Ramblas with islands of familiarity in Monjuïc for MNAC; the high location of my school and on a parallel slope the wonderful Parc Guell; the restaurants of Port Olympic and one or two other places of particular significance.
The only problem I have is that the location of the demonstration is not in either My Barcelona or in an associated colony. I will have to branch out into new areas. A bit of map check is called for before I set off to catch the bus. I am going to rely on the much vaunted transport system of this area to get me there and back and to the gallery which is my bonus for going in the first place.
Fair’s fair!
This is a problem.
A problem which touches the very (in both senses) socialist soul which I am fairly sure that I used to have at some point in the past – I think. Today has been set aside by my Union (the CCOO) for a demonstration in the centre of Barcelona for which I have received more than one email from my mate in the Union and who I feel I would be letting down if I did not attend.
But it’s raining!
As you see I hardly fit easily into the role of a Tolpuddle Martyr. But I do see my way to creating a strategy which will encourage my sun loving self to do the right thing.
I am prepared to bet that in the crowd watching Wales play Scotland at Murrayfield when I last attended the match, there was only one person in that multitude who, while cheering on Wales (in a match which we won incidentally) was clutching the catalogue raisonné of the National Gallery of Scotland under his arm! I think that a similar inclusivity can be adopted in this case combining Power to the People with Paintings for the Patricians. It is a long time since I have wound my way up the steps and escalators of Monjuïc to have a more than decent meal in the first floor restaurant and incidentally look at the paintings that I am getting to know pretty well. I am sure that my sense of working responsibility and cultural thirst can both be satisfied in a judiciously spaced visit to the capital.
This demonstration is not in My Barcelona. This is designation of those bits which I know. God knows My London is small enough stretching as it does from the Royal Academy in Piccadilly, to the electronic and book stores in the Tottenham Court Road and stretching down to the South Bank and reaching east to the Barbican, that morass of modern buildings and lost culture vultures!
My Barcelona is even smaller and is basically restricted to Las Ramblas with islands of familiarity in Monjuïc for MNAC; the high location of my school and on a parallel slope the wonderful Parc Guell; the restaurants of Port Olympic and one or two other places of particular significance.
The only problem I have is that the location of the demonstration is not in either My Barcelona or in an associated colony. I will have to branch out into new areas. A bit of map check is called for before I set off to catch the bus. I am going to rely on the much vaunted transport system of this area to get me there and back and to the gallery which is my bonus for going in the first place.
Fair’s fair!
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