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!
