Pointless power

 

There is always something exhilarating about an electric storm, especially in this part of the world, as they seem (when they happen) to be the showy Drama Queens of thunder and lightning with constant flashes and histrionic rolls of thunder.  As I open the door of third floor to gain greater immediate access to the shenanigans of the weather, I am reminded of what we used to do in my first primary school.

     We were not allowed to use ball point pens, but instead we were issued with wooden nib holders and a metal nib to use the ink that was portioned out into the inkwells that were part of the desks that we used.  The inkwells had a sliding metal cover which was put in place when the ink was not being used to limit evaporation and keep things from falling in.  During thunderstorms, as we had been informed of the propensity for lightning to find a metal conduit to “earth” itself, we very carefully put pieces of blotting paper over the metal inkwell covers so that we were not electrocuted by a stray branch of lightning finding its way into our classroom.  Even though, even at that age, we suspected that a small piece of blotting paper was unlikely to be of very much help, it seemed better than doing nothing, and gave a most pleasurable sense of danger possibly prevented to liven up we already storm-excited kids.

     The storm has now passed, with the rolls of thunder being more of the distant grumbling variety rather than the window shaking type that really did buffet us just a few minutes ago.  The lightning remains, but more as distant fading flashes looking like poor theatrical attempts to try and mirror the real thing.

     A storm like the one that we have just had has an immediate legacy in this district of Castelldefels.  The name of the district is taken from the number of pine trees that abound and any storm washes off quantities of needles from the trees which, unless they are removed with expedition block gutters and drains and produce almost instant flooding.

     We have no pine trees growing in our garden, but we are surrounded by them in other gardens and so our garden is covered in needles, all of which need to be gathered up and put out on the pavement on a Friday when the organic collection of rubbish takes place and the raked debris disappears.

     I must admit that in my first year of teaching, I vividly remember a lad giving a passionate and informed talk to the rest of the class about his dad’s job in the local sewerage works.  His description of nematode worms and their essential part in dealing with waste and his simple wonder about the worth of sewerage and waste management has stayed with me through my career and beyond.

     I do find the whole logistical exercise of waste collection fascinating and I never fail to be moved and astonished by the way that it is done.

     In Castelldefels we have had a system of rubbish specific bins that are emptied on a daily basis by the use of massive lorries with a hydraulic arm that picks up each (large) bin, empties it into its appropriate section and replaces it with amazing precision when it has been emptied.  It must all be computer controlled and the lorries must cost a fortune, but it seems to work.

     I’m now typing in silence, the storm ended, and only the sound of the two fans which more than cover the sound of a very distant thunder roll.

     There are several pinch points in Castelldefels where storm water accumulates and the drainage system is inadequate in dealing with it.  As I make my way to the pool tomorrow I åshould pass at least two of them, but on the bike, it is easy to find a dry way through and not have to plough through the massive puddles.

 

 

Well, all that was last night and now its the afternoon of the next day, so to speak - and the sun is shining and the fans are on!  Ah, what a joy to live in a country where the weather is not lingeringly spiteful!

     The results of the downpour last night were obvious in the amount of leaves, needles and small branches littering the streets, pavements and more importantly gutters.

     My cycle to my morning swim was uneventful apart from the new bumps of tree litter strewn along my way, but the more spectacular even was to turn into the leisure centre and see the new lake that had formed taking over a chunk of the seating area and part of the parking area as well!     

     The attempts of the technical staff to use an electric pump to get rid of the water at first resulted in a small ornamental fountain, but by the time that I had finished my post-swim tea, the water had gone.

     As will the rest of the organic rubble as tomorrow is the leaf collection day and the little piles that have now accumulated outside our houses will magically disappear.  I hope.

     If not then our parking spaces (because some people put their tree and grass waste on the road) will be limited for another week - and not everyone obeys the rule that no waste can be put out for collection until Thursday at the earliest.

     It is very difficult not to feel resentment against those people who Take Advantage.  And what do we saintly others who obey the rules do?  Grumble a little, but actually do nothing.  I have read that some parts of the UK have draconian rules regarding the sorting of rubbish into correct receptacles, and woe betide the recidivist who makes a second mistake about the placing of egg shells: punishment is condign and expensive!  So, I'm told.

     One of the pleasure of owning a bike was the ability to ride along the Paseo and see the sea.  That is now forbidden.  It was done in stages: firstly on the narrower part of the Paseo and then extended to all of it.  And I obey the rules.

     Except, each time I come back from my morning swim, I cycle along the road which runs parallel to the out of bounds Paseo, and I ALWAYS see a few cyclists enjoying the forbidden sight of the sea.  And what happens to them?  Nothing!

     I know that I should be satisfied to do what is right and that feeling of rectitude should be reward enough.  But it isn't.  If I may paraphrase and overused saying, "It is not enough for me to do good; I must see those who do not, suffer!"

     Another character flaw I have to work on!

Autumn exercise

 

 

Not only was I able to have a pot of tea on the terrace of the third floor, but I was also able to have it stripped to the half, luxuriating in the sunshine and even feeling that slight skin-prickle that suggests that you might be overdoing the exposure!  And that after a night of quite unnecessarily demonstrative rain.

Our rain water drainage in Castelldefels is woefully inadequate and so we have to navigate (a quite apt word) sudden finger lakes stretching the length of gutters.  Other low-lying areas have more considerable expanses of water, but a regular cyclist with well worn routes, I know the danger areas and I am more than prepared and now that I have (at long, long last) my throttle attachment for my bike I am able to whisk my way to relative dryness while avoiding on-coming cars.

The only real problem is the section of the cycle lane along the front that is technically in Sitges.  Given the rather odd geography of the Sitges region it does mean that the ostensible ‘end’ of Castelldefels to the south is not actually in Castelldefels, but administratively it is in Sitges which is, in reality about twenty-minute drive away through tunnels.  Anyway, for cyclists who want a level surface and a view of the sea Castelldefels allows us to cycle along the Paseo next to the beach, until at the end of one section of the resort, the Paseo moves out to run parallel with the Maritime road.  On this particular section of the Paseo we cyclists have a dedicated cycle lane.

Having a dedicated cycle lane does not mean that all cyclists use it and keep the paseo free for pedestrians.  I must admit that when I am cycling (in the dedicated cycling lane) I share the irritation of pedestrians who have to put up with sometimes recklessly rapid cyclists weaving their way through people rather than using a relatively empty cycle lane.  This particular section of the cycle lane is in Castelldefels and is smooth and well maintained.

When you get to ‘Sitges’ the story is rather different.  During the full lockdown of the earlier part of the year the number of cyclists expanded exponentially.  Cars were infrequent and cyclists came into their own.  The dedicated cycle lane ran out at the end section of Castelldefels/Sitges and so you were forced on to the Paseo until you got to Port Ginester and the end of the bay.

The municipal solution was to create a cycle lane by using the car parking strip on the left side of the road next to the paseo as a sudden bike lane.  This was done by putting a line of rubber bumps on the outside of the lane, painting a middle line for two-way traffic and cementing the gutter area to make it sort-of level.  This means that the part of the lane next to the Paseo is ‘a bit bumpy’ to put it mildly and, although a few drains have been left in situ they are woefully inadequate and they form disconcerting obstacles.  This means, of course, that after rain there are thin gutter lakes to negotiate.  What this means in practice is that everyone uses the outside lane next to the traffic and only veers into the gutter lane if they absolutely have to.

Sometimes it takes very steady nerves and a firm belief in your right, to maintain your position when one of those so-called professional bike riders comes hurtling towards you in ‘your’ lane.  You are relying on their ability to swerve into rectitude and regain their proper lane before they hit you.

I am not a confident bike rider.  I am, I think quite reasonably, apprehensive when on the road.  I am acutely aware that all it takes is the slightest touch from a larger vehicle to unsettle me and then you discover just how unprotected the normal bike rider is.  Obviously, I wear a helmet and I am punctilious about using lights when necessary, but riding is precarious and I have a lively understanding of what might happen if another road user is unwary.  I also, as a car user, know just how loathed we bike riders are.

The first question asked in the old Highway Code was, “For whom is the Highway Code written?” to which the answer was, “For all road users, motorists, cyclists, pedestrians etc.”  The worst road users are, without doubt, pedestrians.  They are reckless, inconsiderate, suicidal, idiotic and most of the time they don’t actually realize that they are road users at all.  Then in descending order of awfulness come electric scooters, motor scooters, motorbikes and bicycles.  Everyone hates skateboards.  And rightly so.

There are, of course, different types of cyclists.  I am one of the sit-up-and-beg cyclists, back straight looking like a superannuated clergy man from the 1950s.  I wear a T-shirt when the weather is hot and a wind cheater with hood when it isn’t.  My bike is a MATE X 250, and is coloured what they describe as ‘burn orange’ and I describe as red.  It is electric and has ‘fat’ wheels, eight gears and hydraulic brakes.  It looks impressive and, in spite of MATE’s god-awful customer service, I like it.  I travel at a sedate power-assisted rate and thoroughly enjoy my daily 11 kilometers or so along pleasantly level and fairly safe routes.  I am not a ‘real’ cyclist.

‘Real’ cyclists are inconsiderate bastards.  They wear wildly inappropriate, unflattering clothing as if none of them have significant others to tell them that Lycra does nothing for them.  They also look diseased as they affect those skin-tight shirts with various hidden pockets where they can secrete the impedimenta necessary for their progress on their thin, thin wheels.  They also wear ‘serious’ helmets which make them look as though they have inexplicably attached a row of sausages to their heads in the name of safety.

And talking of safety, these ‘professional’ riders scorn the word.  They weave in and out at high speed insinuating their way into spaces that don’t exist to the ‘unprofessional’ eye.  They ignore traffic lights, ‘no entry’ signs and ‘one way’ prohibitions, they over-take or under-take with no warning and with no indication that they might be followed by hundreds of other bikes.  They pass too close and far too quickly, their lane discipline is non-existent and they assume that no other traffic exists.

I know that the preceding is grotesque generalization and the majority of riders are considerate and fair.  But that is not how it seems when you are actually cycling.  It is only in the calm after the ride that reason takes over again!

So, back to the gutter-lakes.

The ‘Sitges’ section of the bike lane is long and straight, you can see a long way ahead and plan accordingly.  When I am making my way back home from Port Ginester (in the wrong part of the lane because of the bumpy concrete apology of a surface) I can see any cyclists making towards me, I can check the proximity of gutter-lakes and plan my speed to avoid splashing my way through.  Normally, this works out fairly well a gentle increase or decrease in speed means that the passing is without incident.  Not everyone has my consideration and I have experienced those who think that the onus in on me to get out of the way in my lane to give more space to the cyclists who think that they have a god given right to pull out, when what they should actually do is stop.

As motorists, you will also have experienced this: motorists pulling out behind stopped buses and gong into the other lane in spite of the fact that they can see you approaching in the other direction.  They should just bloody well wait!  What are they doing that is so important that it requires them to risk injury to gain a few seconds that they will lose at the next set of traffic lights?  But then logic has never been the driving feature of, well, driving!

Part of my problem, of course, is that the sedate speed that I adopt allows me time to observe my surroundings and my fellow road users and, let’s face it, observation is often condemnation.  At least for me it is!

 

I finished off the Suzanne Collins prequel to The Hunger Games and I think that it will make an excellent film - surely it was written with that in mind?  The ending was clever and allowed the reader of The Hunger Games to tick a few more boxes of the pre-knowledge details that makes any prequel engaging.  I would recommend The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes.  I think that the actual ending of the novel might divide opinion, but I thought it was an interesting and appropriate culmination of what is a very long novel.  And don’t we always, sometimes secretly, like the baddies in literature rather than the heroes and heroines?  And Snow has legs, and Collins make the most of them!

 

LOCKDOWN CASTELLDEFELS - DAY 40 – Friday, 24rd APRIL

Years ago, when I was a volunteer on Cardiff AIDS Helpline, part of the duties of the volunteer was to staff the phones so that you could answer questions on the disease from members of the public who were able to ask for information in a safe environment where their anonymity was guaranteed.  It was very rewarding and volunteers were only allowed to take phone calls when they had undergone a fairly rigorous period of training.

     I remember, in one of the training sessions where we were being presented with simulations of calls one of the trainers, after listening to my responses said, “A little judgemental there, Stephen!”  I put it down to my being a teacher where there is an obvious overarching sense of direction and intent in the pedagogic approach.  But, with the Helpline, it was all about the caller: whatever the caller said and whatever the caller talked about, the volunteer had to go with it and suspend judgement.  I found it refreshing!  Whatever the caller had done, was doing or thought about doing, I was only there to give unbiased explanations and to give advice if asked.  I heard some shocking things but I learned not to judge only to supply facts to give the callers the information they needed to answer their questions and to give them clarity in the direction that best suited them.

     In the early days of the AIDS epidemic ignorance was the great killer.  In spite of the eventual mass advertising campaigns, the sometimes-gnomic approach was not direct enough for the basic information to get to the bulk of the population and some of the questions asked showed a shocking lack of understanding.

     One caller asked if it was possible for, “Me to give myself AIDS if I cut myself?”  While another when being told that the AIDS virus could be killed with a weak solution of bleach asked, “Couldn’t you inject that into somebody to kill the virus in them?”

     I was reminded of my time with the Helpline when reading and listening to Trump in one of his latest deranged pronouncements where he seems to be urging the use of internal UV treatment and the ingestion of bleach as a way of combating the Covid-19 virus!  30 years later and still the same level of ignorance, and this time not a random anonymous caller from Cardiff but the so-called leader of the free world who, from the time of his inauguration has spoken, “some weird shit” as Bush put it.

     At one time you could smile at the antics of the Orange Grotesquery, but it has become increasingly apparent that his mangled language simply kills.

The second attempt at Google Meet for our language classes was not an entire success.  The sound quality was variable, to say the least and the pictures confusing.  Having seen Zoom conferences of neatly aligned video feeds and exceptional audio, this experience was a little less than overwhelming.  I do not even think that I managed to get the basic information from our little gathering, but I will persevere and see what happens.

     Our Catalan group is about five or six on a good day, but I was the only one there and will have to relay imperfectly understood information in the hope of getting some sort of on line lesson up and running.  As far as I can tell, the only good thing coming out of the crisis is that we will not have any examinations; for which much thanks!  But it does call into question any certificate that we might be given at the end of the year!  What little Catalan I did have before the advent of Covid-19 has now altogether disappeared.  Every time I open my textbook, it is as thought I am starting from scratch.

     To justify our continued places in the virtual classes we have to do a certain number of ‘tasks’ and submit on line for assessment.  Having looked at the first one, I am even more confused than I was before the meeting, but no doubt, I will cobble something or other together and stagger on in the way that has become second nature to me when it comes to the study of languages!

We have just had a loudspeaker car come around the streets telling us that the normal municipal Friday collection of garden clippings and pine needles has been suspended until further notice.  You may not consider this much of a hardship, until you realize that the constant dropping of pine needles (in an area called after the pine trees) is a major problem.  This is not because of any unsightliness, but rather because of the threat that the accumulation of pine needles poses to the efficient working of our drainage system.  The pine needles block drains and cause floods unless they are cleared from gutters on a fairly regular basis.  Everything is interconnected and ignoring one part of the system will lead in a fairly short time to its collapse.  One wonders what other services have been dispensed with during this crisis and when the end results of this neglect will start showing itself.

     We are now two days away from the release of the Plague Kids into the streets on Sunday.  The rules (as far as anyone really knows them) say that a youngster can be taken out on a short walk accompanied by a single parent.  I simply do not believe that this is going to happen and we certainly do not have the number of police available to make sure that the rules are followed.  But, perhaps I am being cynical.

The sun is out and the sky is cloudless and all is well with the world.  At least, all is well with the world when it is concentrated on the third floor terrace, my private bit of the ‘outside’!