Flight to the library!

Having flounced out of the house because of the intolerable noise of the renovations next door I made my way (by bike) to the town library – an imposing modern building with desks (and an electricity supply) for those wanting to work.

     Finding the socket was the first problem when I had found a desk heartbreakingly close to the library’s collection of books on painting.  This is usually the kiss of death for any work that I might do as the lure of the lavishly illustrated books is usually an irresistible temptation for me.  I have however found the fortitude to stay my eyes from the luxury of paint and have stuck to some sort of travail.

     Admittedly, I have not (yet) done any of the work that ostensibly brought me to the library in the first place, but work of a sort has been done.  I have written three stanzas for the memory poem and generally considered that the rest of the writing that I have done for it is woefully inadequate and simply un-poetic.  The ideas might be interesting, but the way in which I have written them is too prosaic for my taste – and it doesn’t sound right when I say the lines!

     I have, therefore decided to rest that particular effort and turn to my languishing blog.  For someone who professes to be a writer, I sometimes evince a totally reprehensible disinclination to practice my art. 

     However, when it comes to displacement activity, I am truly one of the Greats.  Hence, my fingers pattering along the keyboard of my trusty MacBook Air.  This has become the machine that I take to public places where it might be stolen, because my Dell is simply too expensive to be put into a position of possible pilferation and so stays largely unused at home.  That logic is not entirely convincing, but it will have to remain as the explanation for my actions.

     In the way that irony follows me around, no sooner had I sat down and plugged myself into the power supply and typed the first words, than a whole horrendousness of children broke into their atavistic caterwauling outside the library and a group of public street drummers started playing their instruments.  But that sound was muted through plate glass and concrete and, anyway, the sound of rhythmic beats and young humans in full yell is nothing like so debilitating as the bone reverberating sound of workmen mindlessly (to the listener) hammering a party wall that amplifies and encourages sonic augmentation.

   Well, the sounds soon stopped and I only had to contend with the incessant conversation of the librarians at reception whose conversations fill the ample open stairways in the centre of the building.  On the other hand they add a touch of humanity to a space that can sound funereal in the total absence of human talk.  And silence can be distracting too!

Now on to the reason for my being here in the first place: the looming Catalan examination.  I should leave that sentence as a sort of gateway to learning, and stop typing and get on with the hard work of forcing Catalan concepts into my antagonistically resilient brain.  So I will.  After I have been to the loo.

    Back at my machine and, if you are wondering why I have not got down to the real work that I am supposed to be doing, then I will just say that when I went to the loo, I actually left my MacBook Air (open and on) at my desk.  Unattended.  Such is one of the advantages of being in a civilized place like Castelldefels.  I merely followed the example of the gentleman at the end of our row of desks who did the same.  Perhaps I should not be saying this in my blog, it is surely an open invitation to opportunistic thieves who prowl about seeking whom they might devour.  But now, work, Catalan!

And I actually did do some vocabulary work.  I am still confused by the accents which, as I have said before, go in all directions and attach themselves to more letters than I have heretofore encountered.  Still, some letters only have the accents going in one direction, so that should make my work easier.  As long as I can remember which letters they are.  And, of course, the direction!  Well, I have two and a half days left.  Think what can be achieved!  Even by me.

     Now I am going on to the more problematic element in the exam: the writing.  We know that we have a choice of two topics: one connected to our homes and the other an email to a friend.  As you can get away with more lists in the ‘home’ option (thereby mitigating the need for over many verbs, adjectives and adverbs) I think I might give that one a go.  I have recently learned the Catalan word for ‘nightmare’ which is ‘malson’ and I am bloody determined to work that in somewhere to describe the work going on next door.

      I have to admit that I am adept at constructing pieces of writing in translation which are heavy on the use of all and any language reference books that I can get my hands on, and yet make the final piece of writing sound like a convincing attempt by an enthusiastic, if inept, learner!  It’s a sort of skill – but not one much called for.

     The trick I need for next Friday and the exam, is to have a store of key phrases that will lift my ‘listy’ vocab-heavy stodge into something a little more interesting and lively.  All I am looking for is a pass.  Just a pass.  Please.

Never satisfied!

I can fully understand why previous generations, before the advent of real science (as opposed to the mumbo jumbo that POTUS 45 believes in), thought that it was the rotting meat that gave birth to the carrion flies feeding on it.  It made sense: there were no flies; meat rots; covered in flies – QED.

This thought came to me as I was driving Toni to his hospital appointment for another test.  In Barcelona.  During the rush hour.

It is easy to forget just how awful driving in a large city is when you are surrounded by sullen drivers, hating your very existence and hoping that the earth would open and devour you whole.  At least that is what I was thinking.

The traffic jams I can take.  I have learned to count the minutes that each stoppage lasts and I have also learned that, in spite of the fury that I feel when I am delayed, the actual, real time that I am hindered is actually quite derisory.   It is a truth universally acknowledged etc etc that time is relative, and time is never so relative as when you are spending it looking at the backside of the car in front and wishing death on the driver in front and the driver in front of that driver and so on until the way is clear for you to progress.

Though the this-too-will-pass philosophy lets me cope with car-forced delays, it does not seem to have such a mitigating effect on my attitude towards motor cycle or motor scooter drivers.

I scowl (inwardly at least, and usually outwardly as well) at all youngsters (i.e. anyone under the age of 35) on two wheels.  If those wheels are motorized then the inward smile often becomes articulate as they seemingly swarm from nowhere (hence the image of the carrion flies and the rotting meat) and encircle your motorcar.  They come at you from all directions because, as far a motorcyclist is concerned, any three-lane motorway into a major city actually has at least seven (7) lanes for motorcycles.  They regard the three lanes for cars as merely the starting point for their depredations, as they see cycle lanes on each side of the conventional car lanes.

All that would not, in itself, necessarily be a bad thing, but the real problem comes when you consider the physiological make up of the drivers themselves.  Like flies they consider themselves faster with their reflexes than mere car chained humans and so they flit from ‘lane’ to ‘lane’ through a real lane (without the quotation marks) space as if these lanes were entirely empty rather than filled with large, four wheeled, heavy, dangerous vehicles.  No, these buzzing insects swerve, cut, under-take, over-take and ignore all the rules of the road right up until the realities of the legitimate road come into play and smash them from their fragile, relatively unstable two-wheeled mortality machines.

They (that amorphous crux of undifferentiated otherness) sometimes say that your ethical standard may be judged by how well your treat those who you think are beneath your regard e.g. Conservatives.

Well, though Conservatives are “lower than vermin” (Nye Bevan) they are not as challenging to me as motor scooter riders.  As someone who has actively, persistently and vocally bewailed the lack of a directional flame thrower operated from the driver’s steering wheel column to deal with the infestation of these two wheeled insects and who has (shame be told) urged that any scooter driver involved in a RTA be swept to the side of the road and left, I feel that my left wing, humanitarian and human decency level are clearly pretty low.

In my defence, in the comfort of my home and well away from a rush hour road, I look askance at the outrageous things mentioned in the paragraph above (apart, of course, from the comment about the Conservatives) and tell myself that my hot thoughts fail to take in social, historical, political, economic and indeed every other -ical and –ic that comes to mind and that I should be ashamed of myself!  And of course I am.  I do not, in my saner moments, wish harm on anyone – misery though recognition of their own evil, yes, but not physical harm.  What I do wish for is simple consideration.

The equality of suffering is something that unites us all which is why we all hate those people who push in or take a space or display their selfishness for all to see – like motor scooter drivers who use bus lanes and cycle lanes and pavements to STOP!  You are not in a traffic jam in the centre of a large city; you have a cup of tea at your side and a good book to read.  Relax.  Let it go!

If I am like this after one short exposure to rush hour traffic, imagine what I would be like if I was still working in Barcelona!  Thank god for retirement!

I have a further admission to make: this is not being typed on my new Lenovo Yoga 910, top of the range, 2-in-1, touch screen and back lit, no, I have reverted to my MacBook Air.  Part of the reason for my backsliding is that the Air is smaller and more portable, but the major reason is the keyboard layout.  My Lenovo has an odd, and entirely unsatisfactory arrangement of the shift and return keys on the right hand side of the keyboard and I simply cannot get used to them.  What the arrangement means in reality is that my wayward little finger finds a page up key and before I know where I am I am typing in the middle of another paragraph rather than simply capitalizing a proper noun!

Since I am a touch typist, anything which actually makes me think about the mechanics of what I am typing simply gets in the way of the thought processes and makes writing a chore rather than a joy.

The whole point about buying the Lenovo was to get me free of the stranglehold of Apple products that has defined much of my computer buying over the years.  As an earlyish adopter of an Apple computer I found myself with a computer system that was user friendly, but as a teacher I also discovered that most of the computer programs used in schools were designed for PC and not Mac and I ploughed a lonely furrow in the educational world!

It was the pricing of the iPhone before last that was the tipping point for me as I felt that Apple was simply taking financial advantage of a loyal customer base and doing so with total cynicism.  Enough of my money for them I thought.  Enough was enough!

I mean, I am not a fanatic, I’ve thrown nothing away and my major computer is still a Mac, but I am on a path to find another way.  And if that means buying new gadgets up to and including a new laptop, then so be it!

I will have to draw up a list of my requirements and then, with Toni’s help, start the hunt. 

Though the more I use my MacBook Air the more I remember how much I enjoy using it, so it may be that I am actually looking for the MacBook Air that I already possess!  

How to fill time when you are really trying

There was a time when, if I had to wait for something, I would have a book with me and I would read.  It’s not rocket science.  A simple activity with built in cultural kudos.  But now.  Now things are different.

Having forgotten about the service for my car once, I took extreme measures (well I set the alarm) to make sure that I took the thing this time.  A very discrete alarm did go off and I found myself up and doing with enough time not to complete the quick crossword in the Guardian.

And now, I am stuck in Gava for two and a half hours while my car is done.

Luckily, there is a major shopping centre within walking distance of the garage where my car is being done and you would have thought that somebody with the mother-shopping training that I have had would find it easy to wander around picking up spoons that I have not intention of buying and ogling the piece of technology that I have to stop myself buying.  But no, shops are not enough!

I never thought that the day would dawn when I said something like that last statement.  My mother must feel that all her schemes of getting me to like shopping as much as my father hated it – like always meeting me in the Wedgewood Room of Howells and then asking my opinion on various suites of glass and china – have come to nothing!  That a child of hers could possibly find shops boring, or at least inadequate!  The shame of it.

But I came prepared.  No books: but a smartphone, iPad and MacBook Air.  Now you might feel that there comes a point where one is a little over-technified for a wait which is of such a short duration.  But I have been sitting here for at least three hours and only 40 mins have gone by!  So I have decided to write.

I do feel a little ostentatious sitting in the walkway, promenade, paseo, concourse (I knew the word would come to me if I exhausted all the other synonyms) but not as ostentatious as I would have felt a few years ago.  After all, how long have portable computers, the laptop (an apt description at the moment because all I have is a chair and no table) been with us.  A frighteningly short period of time for the universal adoption.  Now it is an everyday sight to see people tapping away in all of the most odd places.  And so am I.

Yet more time has gone by and I am still more than an hour and a half away from the car being ready.  I know that I should be reading, but I feel like being a little more active and so I am typing.  Though whether this is a more productive activity is moot!

Talking of activity, I am now going through the oh-god-what-have-I-left-out-of-the-essayI-have-just-sent-in syndrome, which is normal and natural for all students of the Open University once the TMA has been thrown (electronically) at the tutor.

There is a sense of melancholy loss on the forums, where people who have been working at their degrees for umpteen years now realise that they have completed their last tutor essay and that in a matter of months their years of study will be at an end.  A degree certificate is poor recompense for the loss of the welcome stress that doing a degree at a distance gives you.  Rather than being gleeful that the end result is within reach, people are sad that one of the ways in which they have regulated their lives will be taken away.  As I have been ‘doing’ my degree since the 1970s (admittedly there is a thirty year gap in my study!) I am in a different sort of position, but I do agree that it is a very odd feeling.

And I have to start packing!

The day after tomorrow I am going to Cardiff.  An aunt of mine has died and I am going to the funeral.  It is a melancholy thought that, of all my uncles and aunts there is now only one left.  It does remind you that my generation is the next in line!  These occasions are virtually the only time that I get to see any members of my family – but that comes with living abroad.

I hate packing with a totally unreasonably high level of detestation.  This time I don’t even have to do that much, but, however small the effort – I resent it.  And the suit.  My all-purpose suit is not as smart as it once was and so as fitting, in all senses of the word.  I might attempt to buy a new suit when I am in the UK as clothing is usually cheaper there than it is here, but alas, I am no long an off-the-peg size and so I have to factor in adjustments and I’m sure that those can not be done in the limited time that I am there.  But, I have plans and it will be interesting to see if they come to anything like fruition! 

It’s at times like these that I think of Paul Squared who has probably already packed his case for his holiday in May.  Try as I might I can imagine no change to my essential character that would allow me even to consider doing something like that

There is now an hour to go before my car is supposed to be ready.  I wish I could believe that it will be waiting for me when I return to the garage, but past experience does not make me feel jocose.

Well time for a wander.  Tea, shops, lottery ticket and toilet.  That should take up some time!