I was reduced to swimming widths today at the shallow end because that was where the sun was. Then I realized just how whimpish such activity was and boldly swam my way into the cool, murky shadows.
There is a definite “end of era” feel to my lengths as the working week this year is going to mean my getting up at six in the morning just to get to my classes in time and I think it unlikely that I will rise at half past five just to have a swim in the dark!
The great thing about the David Lloyd Centre was that it was on my route to school and home again and often, having spent the journey debating whether or not I would call in to have a swim, I would find that the car had made the decision for me and I was already through the gate. At that point I always went with the flow, so to speak, and felt better for it. It is always good to counteract one form of fatigue with another. The draining effects of teaching can be strangely counteracted by indulging in another exhausting activity. Well, it worked for me anyway.
All of this is to force myself to join the town pool and call in after school as a way of surviving the onslaught of classes which is my burden this year.
I went to three different supermarkets this morning to get the goods that I wanted. At times like that one does miss Tesco. That organization’s burgeoning hubris as it gobbles up any commercial opportunity that comes to mind may make the territorial ambition of Alexander the Great look like debating whether to purchase a beach hut in Torbay – but one does miss the “one stop provides all” approach of the larger Tesco stores. None of our choices of Alcampo, Mercadona or Carrefour are at the same level and their “own brand” products leave something to be desired. But, shopper to my fingertips, I rather enjoy meandering my way up and down the aisles and remaining impervious to the less than enticing “ofertas” thrust beneath my sceptical gaze.
Tea bags, for example. In Carrefour I can at least get hold of PG Tips. I miss few gastronomic delights from my home country, but to go without tea bags (proper tea bags) is simply unthinkable. So, a few bonus points to Carrefour for at least stocking the items.
They sell the tea bags in packs of 40 and 80. The 40 tea bag box costs €1.92 while the 80 costs €4.35. One feels that some of the finer points of economic theory have gone slightly amiss on that form of pricing! So I bought three boxes of 40 – and would have bought more but they only had three boxes.
This is not the first time (and not only in Spain) that I have calculated that it does not pay to buy in bulk. Most people do not work out the sums and merely assume that more is less and pay the price for the privilege.
Talking of value, three bottles of reasonable Rioja for €4.35 is value for money whichever way you drink it – and a nifty little carry box was included! It’s an odd old country.
Our obnoxious neighbours seem stubbornly static and have not left for their town house in the city. Every sound they make (and there have been suspiciously few recently) is gleefully interpreted by us as activity of imminent removal. Even as I was typing more “going away” sounds reached my ears; sounds like cases being dragged along producing that distinctive sound that only little nylon plastic wheels on tile make.
To my almost incoherent joy, inspection showed that the large van like car that the head of the household affects is on the drive way, back door open and packing has begun!
I have set out the Cava glasses on the table so that when Toni and his mother come back from their walk we can toast the departure of the Dysfunctionals and look forward to a more peaceful autumn, winter and spring. It’s a good bottle of Cava so I trust that this is not a false dawn of hope! We want the whole family to go at once, not leave one or two members behind to extend the period of misery. We have specific and damning objects to each and every one of them. Good riddance!
This is an odd Sunday as Monday is not the real start of school. We have been there without the kids since Wednesday and they will not arrive until Tuesday. It is therefore possible (indeed essential) that the typical Sunday Sadness which is common to all teaching folk be denied its full force today as however frantic tomorrow might be, it will be chaos without the customers – and that has to be a good thing.
I have now opened the kitchen window so that the opening of the gate and the starting of the car will be clearly audible to me and I will be able to twist my face into a falsely wistful smile at the retreating exhaust of the family to whom we refer with jocular detestation as The Scumbags.
Meanwhile I am hopelessly unprepared for the start of term. So no change there then: though I would say that the lack of names of the pupils in my classes; books with which I am supposed to teach and access to the technology which we are all supposed to use with gusto are not necessarily my fault. Possibly.
I shall keep my thoughts fixed on a convertible!
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