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Showing posts with label Tuesday People Syndrome. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tuesday People Syndrome. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 19, 2020

LOCKDOWN CASTELLDEFELS - DAY 65 – Tuesday, 19th May



The Tuesday People Syndrome was in full operation this morning as I took my bike ride.  I first observed this phenomenon in my local swimming pool and had my suspicions confirmed by the lifeguard: more people turn up to exercise on a Tuesday morning than on any other day of the week.
     I have considered, like Holmes, writing a ‘short monograph on the subject’ but will content myself with a few fugitive thoughts here.  Although weeks are no longer normal in the same way that they were pre-virus, many of the assumptions made about the qualities of individual days still persist, in spite of living in different times.
     Even without the Boomtown Rats, Mondays are dread days, being as they are not only the first working day of a normal week, but also the bummer of a day after the relative freedom of the weekend. 
     The weekend itself is actually composed of two days, but not Saturday and Sunday.  Friday after work is the first part of the weekend and the whole of Saturday may be regarded as absolute weekend, but Sunday evening has to be considered part of the working week as that is the time that you worry about the things you did not do during the weekend that you have said to yourself before the start you would absolutely complete and you are consequently unable to enjoy the latter part of Sunday in a true ‘weekend’ way.  Early Monday morning is consequently a later part of the working week than its nomenclature would suggest and the resentment at having started the working week the night before makes one disinclined to exercise.
     Wednesday is mid-week and therefore is the tipping point towards the weekend and freedom.  Thursday is the ‘going out in the evening because it will be too crowded on Friday’ and, even if you don’t actually go out, the fact that you could have gone out is enough to make the day bearable.
     TGIF speaks for itself and it is difficult to make the day bad, though some have tried.  I am vividly reminded of one glorious year where I had a free period last period on a Friday!  How better to end the week?  I lost that free period on a regular basis to give cover for other classes.  For the entire year!  That illusory free period and the morning checking of the cover list to see that, yet again, the period had gone actually made the day a misery. 
     The other case was in my last school in Catalonia, where the powers that be decided to call a weekly staff meeting every Friday after the end of the school day!  Luckily this horrific piece of inconsideration was instituted after I had left, but if I had been forced to attend, it would have precipitated my leaving anyway.  Those of you who have not endured the purgatory, no, infernal hell of educational staff meetings in Spanish schools can only guess at the empty soul-destroying horror that involvement inflicts.  For me it would have poisoned the whole weekend.
     And, while we are at it, that same school called a staff meeting for a Saturday morning!  Saturday morning!  I did not immediately resign, though I made my feelings patently clear.  As I told anyone who would listen, if the meeting was so important that it had to be held on a Saturday morning, then it should have been important enough to have it during the school day with the pupils being sent home early to make it possible!  During the whole pointless meeting, I did not smile once or contribute unless directly asked a question.  I fumed for the entire three hours (!) that it took and left immediately when it ended without speaking to anyone.  Just typing about it, I can re-texture my fury, not only at the meeting taking place at all, but also at the attitude of my colleagues that allowed it to go ahead without armed insurrection.
     Which brings us to Tuesday.  Tuesday is a day whose distinction is that it is not Monday and therefore not tainted with the misery of first day of the week.  It is far enough for the weekend for that period of happiness to be a vague memory and it is not yet at the tipping point of the week either.  It is a day when Things Can Be Done, when the depression of Monday has been shaken off, the weight of the week has not yet fallen on frail shoulders and there is still an illusory strength to encourage activity.  So, it is a Tuesday when the resolution to exercise is at its strongest and when intention is likely to result in action.  Therefore, the number of people in the pool and, even in these odd times, the number of people on the Paseo.
     We will see if the numbers are the same tomorrow, or whether the reality (or suggestion for the Barcelona Metropolitan Area) have come back into play and the best of intentions get lost once again in the grind of the week!

Today is Catalan homework day.  I know that if I put it off for more than one day from the time that it is set, then I am likely to leave doing the work until the day it has to be sent in and that will be a panic rather than the mere chore that I am able to tolerate.  And I am writing about it here as a physical impetus to my intent!  Sad that I have to do such things to motivate myself, but it is the way I work.  I am not writing in my notebook so regularly at the moment during lockdown because the routine of swim/tea/write has been broken, and I have even stopped carrying my notebook in my pocket.  This is because I am wearing swimming shorts during the lockdown because they are more comfortable and easier to don, but weight in the pockets (that are decorative rather than functional) tends to drag the garment down – and I am not one for such impropriety!  Perhaps I should carry something lighter, it’s a thought – though as I am mostly indoors, at home, I am never far from writing materials.

Never let it be said that a mere lockdown stood in the way of my creative culinary genius.  Today at lunchtime I treated myself to pollo picado con papa en cubitos, perejil y curry de tienda de papas fritas that, being translated is, chopped chicken with parsley and diced potatoes in a chip-shop curry.  The latter ingredient was courtesy of my ‘Red Cross parcel’ from Poundshop, who knew you could get instant chip-shop curry granules?  Well, I do now.  I hesitate to use the word ‘delicious’, more ‘different’ and ‘interesting’ apply.

Now a little light sunbathing and then the dreaded Catalan homework!