Is there anything sadder than grubby remnants of slowly melting snow with roads and pavements glimmering with the off-white detritus of discarded salt, looking like a layer of dandruff?
I suppose that there is, but you feel a little jaundiced when returning to school after a glorious day off and so you notice the little depressions of everyday life.
School is girding itself up for a jolt of its favourite drug: examinations. Junkie-like we feed the testing habit and have started the ritual thinning of forests as the photocopiers begin to churn out the reams of paper which are necessary to satisfy the raging need which racks the addicted institution.
For the next week or so pupils will be wandering round with odd sheets of papers which they will earnestly consult turning the school into a living representation of a Daumier cartoon of self important lawyers brandishing sheaves of paper as though its mere bulk will somehow impress itself upon the brain.
The chaos of Monday afternoon when The Insanity of Snow (surely a book title waiting for a narrative!) meant that little teaching was done in the prevailing hysteria brought on by the floating to earth of specks of frozen water. The loss of the day following meant that the school was running a deficit of teaching time – and we teach up to the wire as far as the exams are concerned! With a colleague not in school and the best part of two teaching days lost the timetable for the exams has had a few serious jolts!
Rather like some of the trees in the area which, finding it impossible to support the weight of snow have been jolted out of their accustomed places and are now littering the roads with hordes of men swarming over them and reducing the giant trunks to manageable chunks for disposal.
As in the storm of a few months ago, I am shocked at how shallow some of the roots reach of what appeared to be substantial trees. Great gaps have opened up and new vistas have been revealed as part of the cost of the snow.
I should imagine that even the slush-balls that mischievous children have been throwing all day as they scoop up the grimy remains of iced water that has survived the increasing heat by lurking in gullies and secluded and shady nooks will have disappeared tomorrow and the astonishing transformation from Alpine to some other witty choice of word beginning with ‘A’ will be complete.
The construction of a screen (of tasteful bamboo) to hide the bike from the lustful gaze of passing sequestrators is now complete and looks effective and efficient.
The bike itself has acquired a lock with a built in light to allow the combination to be entered even in adverse lighting conditions. A second lock attaches the machine to the bolted rack and a cover is draped inelegantly over the bike. All it needs is for me to use it – which I haven’t done since I went to get lunch from the pollo a last and half killed myself by pedalling furiously over the motorway bridge. By the time I got to the downward slope I was almost coughing blood! I am sure that it did me good, but I do feel that one can have too much of a good thing.
At the moment my swimming is zero and my biking once in a blue moon so there is room for improvement. I didn’t even have the excuse of adverse weather conditions because there was no snow on our bit of the coast. I shall rely on good intentions to justify the continuing efforts to make the bike available for immediate use. I only hope that these good intentions are translated into some form of action in the near future.
A double delight was waiting for me at home: The Week magazine, which is indeed a weekly delight as I hoover up the information contained in it and wish that I could afford to take The Guardian on a daily basis and The BBC Music Magazine with its CD.
I cannot pretend that the magazine is cheap because I pay a supplement on the hefty £4.60 cover price, but it does mean that I acquire at least 12 new CDs a year and am forced to listen to music that would otherwise pass me by.
This month is devoted to Great American Classics (ever a moveable feast in linguistic terms) including Bernstein’s “Chichester Psalms”; Gershwin’s “Second Rhapsody for Piano and Orchestra”; Duke Ellington’s “Harlem” and Ferde Grofé’s “Mississippi Suite.” The only thing by Grofé I know is “The Grand Canyon Suite” and there isn’t anything in it which I could whistle! Perhaps things will be different after a week or so of travelling from Castelldefels to Barcelona and listening to new music!
Meanwhile this broken-backed week will limp on to its conclusion and bring us nearer to the holidays.
Deo gracias!
I suppose that there is, but you feel a little jaundiced when returning to school after a glorious day off and so you notice the little depressions of everyday life.
School is girding itself up for a jolt of its favourite drug: examinations. Junkie-like we feed the testing habit and have started the ritual thinning of forests as the photocopiers begin to churn out the reams of paper which are necessary to satisfy the raging need which racks the addicted institution.
For the next week or so pupils will be wandering round with odd sheets of papers which they will earnestly consult turning the school into a living representation of a Daumier cartoon of self important lawyers brandishing sheaves of paper as though its mere bulk will somehow impress itself upon the brain.
The chaos of Monday afternoon when The Insanity of Snow (surely a book title waiting for a narrative!) meant that little teaching was done in the prevailing hysteria brought on by the floating to earth of specks of frozen water. The loss of the day following meant that the school was running a deficit of teaching time – and we teach up to the wire as far as the exams are concerned! With a colleague not in school and the best part of two teaching days lost the timetable for the exams has had a few serious jolts!
Rather like some of the trees in the area which, finding it impossible to support the weight of snow have been jolted out of their accustomed places and are now littering the roads with hordes of men swarming over them and reducing the giant trunks to manageable chunks for disposal.
As in the storm of a few months ago, I am shocked at how shallow some of the roots reach of what appeared to be substantial trees. Great gaps have opened up and new vistas have been revealed as part of the cost of the snow.
I should imagine that even the slush-balls that mischievous children have been throwing all day as they scoop up the grimy remains of iced water that has survived the increasing heat by lurking in gullies and secluded and shady nooks will have disappeared tomorrow and the astonishing transformation from Alpine to some other witty choice of word beginning with ‘A’ will be complete.
The construction of a screen (of tasteful bamboo) to hide the bike from the lustful gaze of passing sequestrators is now complete and looks effective and efficient.
The bike itself has acquired a lock with a built in light to allow the combination to be entered even in adverse lighting conditions. A second lock attaches the machine to the bolted rack and a cover is draped inelegantly over the bike. All it needs is for me to use it – which I haven’t done since I went to get lunch from the pollo a last and half killed myself by pedalling furiously over the motorway bridge. By the time I got to the downward slope I was almost coughing blood! I am sure that it did me good, but I do feel that one can have too much of a good thing.
At the moment my swimming is zero and my biking once in a blue moon so there is room for improvement. I didn’t even have the excuse of adverse weather conditions because there was no snow on our bit of the coast. I shall rely on good intentions to justify the continuing efforts to make the bike available for immediate use. I only hope that these good intentions are translated into some form of action in the near future.
A double delight was waiting for me at home: The Week magazine, which is indeed a weekly delight as I hoover up the information contained in it and wish that I could afford to take The Guardian on a daily basis and The BBC Music Magazine with its CD.
I cannot pretend that the magazine is cheap because I pay a supplement on the hefty £4.60 cover price, but it does mean that I acquire at least 12 new CDs a year and am forced to listen to music that would otherwise pass me by.
This month is devoted to Great American Classics (ever a moveable feast in linguistic terms) including Bernstein’s “Chichester Psalms”; Gershwin’s “Second Rhapsody for Piano and Orchestra”; Duke Ellington’s “Harlem” and Ferde Grofé’s “Mississippi Suite.” The only thing by Grofé I know is “The Grand Canyon Suite” and there isn’t anything in it which I could whistle! Perhaps things will be different after a week or so of travelling from Castelldefels to Barcelona and listening to new music!
Meanwhile this broken-backed week will limp on to its conclusion and bring us nearer to the holidays.
Deo gracias!
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