The stage is rapidly being reached where all of my books will be out of boxes and available to view. You will notice that I have not been rash enough to assert that they will be in order or even on shelves – but a real stage in the liberation of my books has been reached.
Let the winnowing commence!
Even I can see that I am preserving books and monographs that are dead space: I’m never going to look at them again. Pass Notes can surely be consigned to the bin in which they richly (except of course for my effort with Dylan Thomas) deserve to languish before their destruction.
Yesterday I built (please god!) the last Billy bookcases for some time and all are now filled to overflowing. At least I can see what is there and start making decisions. Probably.
The school was hellish today with all the pupils having returned from the various visits that they had been on during the last week. The fact that some of the teachers brought in chocolates purchased during a school visit to Belgium were little compensation for the ignorant hordes storming through the erstwhile silent corridors.
And the weather has been bloody awful as well. Driving rain and a thoroughly northern feel to the weather – though the temperatures remain higher.
But enough of this! Setting out the books has meant the displacement of a whole load of stuff which will have to find a new home.
The struggle continues!
This morning I was lulled into a false sense of security as I negotiated the lead up to the motorway which takes me to school. The traffic was heavy and the variable speed signals indicated something was up but apart from reducing speed the traffic was moving. Something the traffic on the Ronda de dalt (the northern ring road of the city) certainly wasn’t.
I had to phone-a-friend in the middle of a traffic jam who phoned the school to let them know that I was on my way, but, rather like Zeno’s arrow was unlikely to make it to the destination and therefore as Tom Stoppard put it in ‘Jumpers,’ Saint Sebastian died of fright!
As far as I could tell the traffic chaos was fermented by a combination of poor weather (it’s been raining for what seems like months) and a stopped car just (as fate would have it) before my turn off to get to the school.
The car looked suspiciously undamaged and the police man parked by it suspiciously officious so that to some of us, whose senses had been heighted by the frustration of watching a slowly moving line of traffic occasionally stutter to a halt, it looked as though there had been some of macho car chase.
With teeth firmly ground together I finally made it to the approaches of the school. The traffic chaos here was augmented by the fact that too many cars, buses and the odd pedestrian were all behaving atrociously on a one in one slope.
By the time I got within a couple of hundred yards of the school I was imbued with the collective spirits of Genghis Khan, Dame Shirley Porter, Attila the Hun and That Woman – a pretty noxious mix – and I was waiting for some ‘caring’ parent to get in front of me and execute one of their typically unselfish manoeuvres the successful completion of which requires every other road user to be a mind reader. That would have been the signal for me to unleash the frustrated fury of a deliriously delayed driver.
Luckily for all concerned the antics of our parents were just within the bounds of normal inconsideration and I was able to park in the single remaining space and stump my way to my class.
The head of English (we look after our own) was taking my class and even offered to complete the lesson but I was far too frightened to allow that to happen. That was all I needed, hopelessly late and someone teaching my kids grammar who actually knew what they were taking about! I was terrified that they might go on expecting comprehension from their teacher even when she had left!
The afternoon staff room was abuzz with the news that Action Had BeenTaken against the naughty pupils who had attempted to drink gallons of alcohol while on a school trip. Sixteen pupils have been expelled for two days. Presumably the servants will be directed to look after the wastrels while they languish at home!
There are many aspects of this condign punishment (some of my colleagues think that it is unreasonably hard!) and the way in which it has been administered that confuse me. As this infraction took place last week, why wasn’t the punishment administered at once on their return? Why weren’t the kids told that they were going to be given detentions for the rest of the year or something at the time that they were on the trip? But mostly why do my benighted colleagues think that this tap on the wrist is harsh!
I am happy to admit that, basically, I couldn’t care less. The school can do or not do what it likes as long as it doesn’t interfere with my life in the place. Staff have been wandering around looking as though they had just heard Mr Chamberlin say that he had not heard from Herr Hitler and that consequently etc etc. Roll on the time when I can wave this amazingly self obsessed place goodbye!
We are building up to Carnival. I am not dressing up. That humiliation is reserved for Class Teachers. I am prepared to play a more decorous part and merely present teams of pupils with the questions I prepared for the English department section of the ‘treasure trail’ set up for the pupils to follow as part of the giddy celebrations. For reasons best known to itself our institution has labelled this ‘trail’ a Gymkhana.
My Greek is a little rusty (or non-existent as some would have it) but doesn’t the word gymnos or something like it mean naked?
I shudder at the mere glimmer of the distant thought!
Let the winnowing commence!
Even I can see that I am preserving books and monographs that are dead space: I’m never going to look at them again. Pass Notes can surely be consigned to the bin in which they richly (except of course for my effort with Dylan Thomas) deserve to languish before their destruction.
Yesterday I built (please god!) the last Billy bookcases for some time and all are now filled to overflowing. At least I can see what is there and start making decisions. Probably.
The school was hellish today with all the pupils having returned from the various visits that they had been on during the last week. The fact that some of the teachers brought in chocolates purchased during a school visit to Belgium were little compensation for the ignorant hordes storming through the erstwhile silent corridors.
And the weather has been bloody awful as well. Driving rain and a thoroughly northern feel to the weather – though the temperatures remain higher.
But enough of this! Setting out the books has meant the displacement of a whole load of stuff which will have to find a new home.
The struggle continues!
This morning I was lulled into a false sense of security as I negotiated the lead up to the motorway which takes me to school. The traffic was heavy and the variable speed signals indicated something was up but apart from reducing speed the traffic was moving. Something the traffic on the Ronda de dalt (the northern ring road of the city) certainly wasn’t.
I had to phone-a-friend in the middle of a traffic jam who phoned the school to let them know that I was on my way, but, rather like Zeno’s arrow was unlikely to make it to the destination and therefore as Tom Stoppard put it in ‘Jumpers,’ Saint Sebastian died of fright!
As far as I could tell the traffic chaos was fermented by a combination of poor weather (it’s been raining for what seems like months) and a stopped car just (as fate would have it) before my turn off to get to the school.
The car looked suspiciously undamaged and the police man parked by it suspiciously officious so that to some of us, whose senses had been heighted by the frustration of watching a slowly moving line of traffic occasionally stutter to a halt, it looked as though there had been some of macho car chase.
With teeth firmly ground together I finally made it to the approaches of the school. The traffic chaos here was augmented by the fact that too many cars, buses and the odd pedestrian were all behaving atrociously on a one in one slope.
By the time I got within a couple of hundred yards of the school I was imbued with the collective spirits of Genghis Khan, Dame Shirley Porter, Attila the Hun and That Woman – a pretty noxious mix – and I was waiting for some ‘caring’ parent to get in front of me and execute one of their typically unselfish manoeuvres the successful completion of which requires every other road user to be a mind reader. That would have been the signal for me to unleash the frustrated fury of a deliriously delayed driver.
Luckily for all concerned the antics of our parents were just within the bounds of normal inconsideration and I was able to park in the single remaining space and stump my way to my class.
The head of English (we look after our own) was taking my class and even offered to complete the lesson but I was far too frightened to allow that to happen. That was all I needed, hopelessly late and someone teaching my kids grammar who actually knew what they were taking about! I was terrified that they might go on expecting comprehension from their teacher even when she had left!
The afternoon staff room was abuzz with the news that Action Had BeenTaken against the naughty pupils who had attempted to drink gallons of alcohol while on a school trip. Sixteen pupils have been expelled for two days. Presumably the servants will be directed to look after the wastrels while they languish at home!
There are many aspects of this condign punishment (some of my colleagues think that it is unreasonably hard!) and the way in which it has been administered that confuse me. As this infraction took place last week, why wasn’t the punishment administered at once on their return? Why weren’t the kids told that they were going to be given detentions for the rest of the year or something at the time that they were on the trip? But mostly why do my benighted colleagues think that this tap on the wrist is harsh!
I am happy to admit that, basically, I couldn’t care less. The school can do or not do what it likes as long as it doesn’t interfere with my life in the place. Staff have been wandering around looking as though they had just heard Mr Chamberlin say that he had not heard from Herr Hitler and that consequently etc etc. Roll on the time when I can wave this amazingly self obsessed place goodbye!
We are building up to Carnival. I am not dressing up. That humiliation is reserved for Class Teachers. I am prepared to play a more decorous part and merely present teams of pupils with the questions I prepared for the English department section of the ‘treasure trail’ set up for the pupils to follow as part of the giddy celebrations. For reasons best known to itself our institution has labelled this ‘trail’ a Gymkhana.
My Greek is a little rusty (or non-existent as some would have it) but doesn’t the word gymnos or something like it mean naked?
I shudder at the mere glimmer of the distant thought!
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