Less than twelve hours after leaving school yesterday I was setting out (in the dark) to go back to the bloody place today. If that isn’t a definition of sickness I’d like to know what is!
Looking out of the window of the library at the early morning sun, and protected from the brisk temperature by comforting glass, it could be a summer day. The sky blue and wisps of could decorously stretched over the hills of Barcelona in a very becoming way. It is the sort of day when one should be going for a walk along the paseo in Castelldefels and watching the sunshine glinting off the wavelets of the undemonstrative Mediterranean.
But I’m not doing that; instead I am invigilating two kids for a late examination and fretting about the marking I have yet to do.
God must have been looking down on me as a colleague came in to the library and looked depressed when she saw me. While I am used to this response, it turned out that she needed to have some very young future pupils with her and she would supervise the kids that I was supposed to be observing. I escaped from that irksome duty in double short time and actually did some of the outstanding marking.
I am now preparing for my double period of Media Studies with the equivalent of Year 9: a delight. At least I can go home immediately after without the threat of another meeting hanging over my head!
As I invariably return home by driving along the road next to the paseo and the sea when I get to our bit of Castelldefels I can observe at first hand the attitude of drivers towards their peers on the road.
Parking has been laid out on the left hand side of the road (the right hand having been taken up by new cycle lanes) and the parking lines are at such an angle that people need to reverse into the spaces, the lines being at an obtuse angle to the oncoming traffic. It therefore needs drivers to be considerate and leave enough space for those about to park to achieve their manoeuvre.
Consideration is not the first abstract noun that springs to mind when thinking (even slightly) about Iberian drivers. Overtaking is impossible (cf traffic lanes above) and patience is non-existent in this part of the world. Driving along this stretch of road (even in winter) would be a real test of Buddhist calm in even the most adept of adepts. Not many people are of that persuasion.
We had one particularly fine weekend when (as is usual) the entire population of Barcelona descended on Castelldefels to take the sun and walk the paseo. Driving along the parking stretch of road was only accomplished by remembering one’s breathing exercises to maintain calm as driver after driver dawdled his way along and took hours to park. One must never forget that overtaking is impossible.
I go along that road as a test of my mental stability. I haven’t screamed once in spite of the fact that I have seen a man of mature years, supremely indifferent to traffic around him on the main road, serenely gliding along on a skateboard while holding his baby son in his arms; I have waited behind cars which are waiting behind cars which are waiting behind cars which are thinking of pulling out or parking; I have followed drivers who without indication have meandered their way (difficult in a single lane) along the road as if they were the only people on it; I have seen cyclists – and I don’t need to say anything more as all cyclists are the Spawn of Satan and motorcyclists (ugh!) can only aspire to the glowing appellation of Spawn of Satan in the wildest of their fantasies.
So, as you can imagine I finally arrive home in a state that sometimes borders on the homicidal. Thank god that I have a comfy armchair that by its very opulence soothes as it rests me.
Though, like this evening, I sometimes have the strength of will to eschew the blandishments of comfort and go for a bracing swim. The bag in the boot of the car is a reminder of what I ought to be doing and today I accepted that as I actually enjoy swimming I might actually do it.
The pool was suspiciously empty though there were plenty of kids (with attendant parents) milling around outside and I was able to make stately progress in a lane mercifully free of gentlemen of a certain age doing a backstroke drowning and getting in my way. Women of a certain age, though slower than their male counterparts are usually much more receptive to the concept of allow a faster swimmer to take precedence. But today, empty water and now aching arms. I really have let things slip if a few lengths exact a physical price!
I have just finished reading “Ticket to Prague” by James Watson (he of “Talking in Whispers” much beloved of English departments throughout the land – at least in the past) as a possible book for next year’s 4ESO.
This novel concerns a poet isolated by intention and psychiatric diagnosis who is “released” by a young girl who befriends him and manages to get him recognition and to bring him back into the world.
Watson takes a “safe” controversial subject – the post Communist state of Czechoslovakia and the fear of naming those collaborators from the past tainted by their association with the repressive regime.
The story bounces along, as indeed it must, or the unlikely elements in the narrative would make it founder. Our heroine is as unconvincing a character as one could wish and the interplay between young and old takes on more of the form of a fairy story than a hard hitting political commentary.
But there again, this is a novel for young people and as such it has a number of themes and ideas that should be stimulating and provocative for students. Certain parts of the story have an overlay of almost mystical proportions that also serves to solve certain narrative problems.
The ending is abrupt and might prove problematic for some young readers.
I found this an essentially unsatisfying read, but it might lend itself to teaching! One has to balance conflicting demands in education!
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