Another week consigned to the history
books. Slowly, o so slowly, time
creepeth on and liberty (and of course abject poverty) beckon.
School is gearing itself up for its last
spasm of examinations before vomiting forth the pupils to their various holiday
homes. The magic mark-out-of-ten will
have been given and pupils will either completely ignore their achievements
having done their duty and placated their paying parents or settle down to
ignore their holiday work until the last possible day before the start of the
next term!
The air of unreality about my presence in
the school is growing; I can’t wait for them to start talking about “next year”
and all the preparations which will be necessary to ensure that the
commencement of the first trimester is as smooth as is humanly possible to
reduce to the absolute minimum any stress teachers might feel as they face the
term ahead. That is, of course, a joke.
This year saw the introduction of a teacher
assessment/evaluation scheme. This was
accompanied by meetings, documentation and much discussion about classroom
observation. We had, eventually, one
meeting with department head and section head.
Objectives were set and the general chitchat included a question asking
how dedicated I was to the school! This
is an interesting question because of its essential meaninglessness. It tells you a lot about the attitude of the
managerial questioners and is not likely to get any sort of realistic answer
from the interviewee. I responded by
voicing an enthusiastic platitude which sadly seemed just what they wanted to
hear: box ticked we moved on.
We have had, of course, no classroom
observation which every teacher, perhaps rightly, regards as a threat. If the initial process is flawed, why should
one expect the final results to be better?
This month will see the theft of money from
our pay packets: 3% of our total wages since September rawly ripped and poured
into the maw which characterizes the empty coffers of the state. This is backdated income tax and little more
than theft. This disgraceful depletion
is made possible by the emasculated nature of the unions in this country which
are actually financed by the government!
As a reaction against such horror today, Saturday, Irene and
I had flee to Barcelona to partake of culture.
We went firstly to lunch, in the restaurant that I went to when Katy
came to Barcelona, Los Caracoles. The prices were high
and for what we had – three shared tapas: mixed salad; Catalan broad beans and
a small prawn omelette – extortionate!
We had a couple of beers and no change from €50!
We went to what, on the surface, appeared
to be an enterprising temporary exhibition in The Picasso Museum. The basis of the show was a consideration of
the “Picasso Product”, thinking about the artist as a logo or trademark and
studying the industry which has grown up around his marque. At least that is what I thought the
exhibition was about; having seen it I am not at all sure!
I found the presentation pretentious and
confused and the visual material sometimes irrelevant to the stated comments.
When I got to the middle of the displays I
was frustrated, and by the time I got to the latter sections of the exhibition
I couldn’t wait to get out as the frustration had by that time developed into
full blown grumpy old man exasperation.
The permanent collection of the museum is
interesting rather than impressive and Irene’s face showed more and more
disillusionment as she surveyed one mediocre painting after another. The final straw was the collection of
slapdash ceramics that Picasso threw together.
We were ready to go!
As we started our return journey to the car
through the cramped, atmospheric and smelly narrow streets of the Born district
we re-passed the adverts for MEAM, the Museu Europeu d’Art Modern containing
“Contemporary Art of the XXI Century” and, hoping to find something more to our
taste we went in. My teacher’s ticket
only got me a €2 reduction (the Picasso Museum was free for me, €11 for Irene!)
in the Palau Gomis, the impressive eighteenth century palace in which the
museum is situated and so we started up the flight of stone steps which took us
to the first of the galleries.
We visited all the floors of this museum
and by the time we had seen everything we were bemused by what we had been
looking at.
The central concern of the place is that
the art has to be of active artists and all the works share “the common
denominator of . . .working in line with the rules of figurative art” -
whatever they may be!
The end result is a bewildering display of
portraits, landscapes and sculptures where you can see what the image is but
not why it is there.
To me the “museum” resembled a large
multi-floored commercial gallery of relatively “easy” art. I could discern no connecting theme apart
from the reliance on the figurative and the groupings of paintings seemed
aleatory rather than the result of some deep curatorial process. Each work had a name and a title together
with information about material. Nothing
else. It was up to the individual
observer to make sense of the stuff that they saw.
The paintings ranged from semi-pornographic
photo-realism to an appalling wall hanging entitled “Dresden” which referenced
Picasso’s “Guernica” from a large, rather fetching painting of two pigeons on a
stone ledge to a young adolescent boy in his underpants with tiny heads of
famous men drifting off like soap bubbles in the top right hand corner. Mystifying and essentially unsatisfactory.
Confused by culture we fled back to
Castelldefels and the shopping centre where Irene bought a present for the
French lady whose birthday I am going to help celebrate in early July and, more
importantly, ice cream. We had a double
scoop and agreed that, after the meal at the start of our little jaunt, this was
the second best highlight!
Today, Sunday has dawned overcast and
sultry – but I feel smug because I have already been to my new swimming pool
and done my lengths. I am still greeted
effusively and questioned closely on my exit about the quality of experience
that I have had swimming. I am sure that
it will not last, but it gives me a warm glow of self-importance while it does.
I have now used the pool three times, thus
each swim has cost me approximately €40 what with joining fee and yearly
subscription. If I keep up my attendance
as I intend then each visit will have cost me less than €1.
There was only one other person in the pool
when I arrived for my swim this morning and she left soon after I started my
lengths so I had the luxury of the pool to myself. Today, the weather not being gloriously
sunny, the telescopic roof was fully extended so the pool was entirely
indoors. Although this is fairly
irrelevant for the next few months, it will be increasingly important that heat
can be conserved for the winter months!
There is a restaurant/café next to the
centre and I had a halfway decent (sic) cup of tea there. Admittedly I had to ask the guy there to make
it with two tea bags and a dash of milk – all done under my careful
instruction, but when I eventually tasted it, it was a cup of tea with which I
could live and that is saying something for this country! All in all a most satisfactory start to my
time with this pool. I sincerely hope
that it becomes a habit. I will have to
remember to pack an e-book reader when I am a free man to make the most of the
experience!
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