Life certainly does have a way of
interfering with the civilized pursuit of writing, especially if you happen to
be involved in the specific type of education that seems to be staple fare in
our place: chaos.
As usual, the examinations are to blame –
as when are they not?
The timetable for the writing, sitting and
marking of these odious intrusions into the life of the kids and staff have
been (as they were last year, and the year before that, and the year before
than and . . . well, you get the idea) timed so that there is not enough time
between their sitting, marking and meeting.
The meeting to discuss all the results is
on Monday. The last examination was on
Wednesday. The deadline for getting
results, comments and class descriptions into the computer system was
Friday. Oh yes, and we have a more than
full timetable to teach as well!
Why not, I hear you ask, mark during the
examination time of another class? Alas,
our kids are so finely attuned to all the different forms of cheating (good and
bad kids alike) that eagle-eyed invigilation merely keeps the cheating down to
acceptable proportions, it does not eliminate it. No time then to mark. And of course one of the examinations was
held last period on Wednesday, which was also Toni’s birthday during which The
Family came down to celebrate and arrived before I had had a shower after
returning from work.
Thursday was, therefore, a day of frantic
marking as was Thursday evening so that I could have the marks ready to put in
to the computer system on Friday in the “free” periods that we have in our
absurdly long day.
But that, of course was not possible
because the lists which were in the computer system did not relate to the
actual classes that we were teaching this term.
In spite of the fact that the “changeover” dates have been known since
the start of year, nothing had been done.
As I was the one making a fuss about this and trying to get the groups
changed it also followed that I was the only teacher of these groups who was
trying to put the marks into the system - ah hem! So, out of all my classes, I could only put in two sets of results on
Friday when I had a "free" period.
I personally and physically took sheets of
paper with teachers’ names and pupils’ names to the secretary to get the system
updated, traipsing uphill on the infinity of steps which links our vertical
campus.
As Friday is my “early” finish (at only ten
to four in the afternoon) I left school with the entry of marks having been
impossible. My mood was not subdued in
any way by listening to La Stupenda shrieking her way through The Girl of the
Golden West, so it was only when I found the usual note from our local
Non-Delivery-Delivery service that Amazon uses that my mood lightened.
Skipping back into the car I drove into
town and parked audaciously in a Blue Zone to get my parcel from the harassed
little man who looks as though he is doing compulsory Car in the Community work in
the office. Anyway, clutching my
suspiciously light parcel I rushed back home and ripped it open.
“Simple French”, 100 Classical something or
others and Messian – The Collector’s Edition (13 CDs!) was the varied fare
inside. The Classical Thingies are for
the car, the French is for my trip in July and Messian is for indulgence – so
putting on the first disk of the Messian which was, unsurprisingly The
Turangalila Symphony I settled back prepared to be swamped by the music. And I was until the fifth movement when the
bloody thing stuck. I cleaned and tried
again and again it stuck. I tried it in
the computer and there was no problem, so it must be Toni’s music system. I hope!
However the mood had been broken so I
turned to the French book and was mildly gratified to discover that many of the
words were at least familiar, even if their exact meaning was sometimes elusive!
I do, after all, have an O Level in
French – even if, as I now realize, it was sat more than 45 years ago! How is this possible?
The charm of French soon fading I turned,
resentfully, to the school work that I was unable to complete in school and
found that the list had been changed at last and so I was able to put in the
marks. Then I thought I would have a
little lie down - and you can guess the rest.
So, on Saturday morning, Saturday morning
mark you (I can hear the cadences of Neil Kinnock ringing in my ears) I settled
down to write the class descriptions that we had been told by management had to
be completed by Saturday afternoon!
I am still trembling with anger at the
grotesque assumption of management that they can commandeer our weekends by
their own incompetence in not getting groups changed while, at the same time,
reducing our wages. And I am the only
teacher who seems to be furious about it all.
I despair! I really do!
And another thing. The Classical Thingies is ear rottingly
awful. I had expected a few disks of all
the favourites to hum along with but this grotesquery includes “Somewhere Over
the Rainbow” and Sarah Brightman, as classical! And Our Bryn (may god forgive him) singing some sort of Benedictus whose
syrupy vulgarity makes the theme music of “Muffin the Mule” seem like High
Art. I have already skipped forwards
over a whole range of tracks and I think that the whole nonsense will have to
be given away or repackaged as a present for somebody – anybody. I wonder if Messian is suitable car journey
music?
Mu schoolwork had to be done quite quickly
as I was called to Terrassa to celebrate Toni’s mum’s birthday. I did leave in good time to get there for
2.00 pm but I had not counted on – what is the collective noun for magpies, or
rather for magpies with dysentery? – because my car was covered in bird shit
and pollen. One window was quite odured
over with the stuff. And I couldn’t park
anywhere near the bank to get money to pay my share of the present, so I
admitted defeat, came back home, hosed off the car so that it looked a little
less like a medieval night-soil collecting cart and started on my journey.
Which was relatively uneventful, even if I
did start off on the wrong motorway. In
Spain, or at least in Catalonia, they like their motorway links: why travel on
one when you can pop over to another and sample the delights of another
road. This is useful if you have made
mistakes in your navigation because you never need to retrace your steps there
will always be a portal to another universe to bring you back to the straight
and narrow.
The disadvantage of these links however is
that they have obviously been designed in an office by someone who doesn’t
drive. If you want to experience the
reality of Yeats' “Second Coming” then I suggest using a Spanish motorway link
road. You will find yourself “turning
and turning in a widening gyre” and unless you are driving very carefully the
whole of history will flash before your eyes as you tackle yet another
eye-wateringly tight bend on a spiral going who-knows-where.
Lunch was delightful and the present (a red
Casio touch-screen camera) was received with delight.
Back in Castelldefels I returned to the
French book and have now ploughed my way through some sixty pages desperately
hoping that at least some of it will stick and even hoping, hope against hope,
that it might activate some lost memories of the language so I can stagger my
way along in a non English speaking environment – as I am assured I will meet
in the remote part of northern France that we are going to visit.
Today I am on the Third Floor. In spite of some flimsy cloud I am confident
that it is warm enough to lie out. Which
I intend to do.
Tomorrow: school, meeting and opera. A varied day.
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