Popular wisdom says that one should not try
to turn the clock back, but there again it also says that BoJo would make a
good leader of a national political party – so what do they know.
The clock is fully turned back and I am now
a fully registered undergraduate in the Open University and my first course
will start on the third of next month.
I have to be fair and admit that it is not
the course that I would have chosen but the dates did not work out and I was a
week too late to register so I had to compromise.
The compromise is that I am doing some sort
of Arts course (of course) in which I will be concentrating on language and its
uses ending up by the study of the nineteenth century and a reading of Hard
Times by Dickens.
As a function of my keenness I have already
re-read the book and, as I read it electronically I was able to highlight the
passages that I found interesting and also make notes as I went along.
The great discovery was finding out that
one quote from Dickens that I have been trying to pin down to a novel was in
Hard Times and not, as I had previously thought in Bleak House.
Mrs Gradgrind is an eternal invalid and
when she finally has the good grace to enter into her dying phase of moaning
she is asked if she is in pain, to which she replies, “I think there’s a pain
somewhere in the room, (. . . ) but I
couldn’t positively say that I have got it.”
That concept of “a pain somewhere in the
room” is one that I can certainly relate to when one needs to describe a
feeling of discomfort which is just short of pain but within the realm of
conscious appreciation. Dickens, as he
does so often, adds a clear extra layer of experience through the creative use
of language.
I have thoroughly enjoyed the re-reading
and have been musing about a whole variety of themes and ideas that seem to
underpin the novel.
More importantly I have also discovered how
to print out what I have done and those sheets will go into the writing books
that Toni and I have bought for our respective subjects.
After the meal with Irene a couple of day
ago I also have to print out the stories that she sent me that she uses in her
teaching. The idea is that I attempt to
write some simple grammar heavy stories that Irene can try out with the pupils
and then, after I get a collection together, I try and peddle them to some
publisher to see if there is any money to be made from them.
Toni has offered to do the drawings for
them. Which should be interesting.
Tomorrow is the start of the opera season –
at least it is if you have the Season Ticket that I have. I do not have tickets as such, just a plastic
credit card which is “read” when I go into the Liceu and records that I have
started my musical adventure.
Usually I have taken the car to the centre
of Barcelona and have steeled myself to pay the exorbitant parking charges, so
large sometimes that it really does take the edge off the enjoyment of the
operatic experience.
I have therefore determined that I will
find a cheap (!) hotel in Barcelona and spend the night of the concert in the
city rather than wending my solitary way home in the early hours of the
morning.
I also hope to find some sort of reasonably
priced place to have a late night meal after the opera to make the whole thing
worthwhile. It says something for the
cost of parking that the hotel room that I have found, which comes in at €30,
seems like a good deal!
I also want to find a stamp shop n
Barcelona so that I do not have to get pages for my First Day Covers from
Britain – there has to be somewhere that can provide exactly what I want within
the old part of the city.
I have had the sad news that an aunt of
mine has died. This means that of the
husbands and wives of the three children of my maternal grandparents now, only
Uncle Eric remains. He is 93 and is
sharp and politically aware and I think that I have more interesting
conversations with him now that at any other time in my life – better late than
never!
It does mean that I will probably be going
back to Wales some time next week to join my cousin in the funeral.
It is a sad fact of life that when a person
reaches a great age most of the friends and close relatives have died so that,
unless there is a bustling, geometrically increasing series of next generations
the congregation can be quite sparse.
I expect a healthy showing from the private
school in which my aunt was a pupil and taught.
Until her death she was the oldest pupil/teacher and I think she rather
revelled in her predominant longevity.
Her death closes a chapter. I
only hope that it opens another for my cousin.
The illness that Toni is at last combating
– the one donated to him by his kindly and plague carrying family – is trying
its best to latch on to me. By sheer
strength of will I am attempting to keep the depressing symptoms at bay until I
can get my flu jab to give my defences a boost.
And anyway with opera and study and trips
to the UK I have to be at my best and not sneezing my way along bent double
with coughing. I refuse to give in to
the illness. So there.
What is waiting for me now is attempting to
bring some sort of order to the Third Floor; not the terrace but rather the
cluttered chaos through which you have to pass to get out into the open air.
With the new printer being unworkable at
the moment and the other workable and ink loaded machine flitting from place to
place I have to pin it down and ensure that the pages that I need made concrete
are done before tomorrow.
It is a sad fact of modern hotel booking
that a printer is an essential part of the process and the humble sheet of A4
with agreed details is something which gains you your room with the absence of
fuss.
Checking in is at 12 midday and I do not
really want to get there that early, especially as I will be going in by train
so that the expenses of the trip are kept to a minimum. Leaving me in the centre of Barcelona with time
on my hands is an expensive business!
This will be a trial run and will pave the
way for other little trips or will confirm the expensive car parking as the
best way to gain from the experience.
So, printing and packing are called for.
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