Watch and pray!

The Spirit of David Attenborough is alive and well and thriving in us!  Never has such a small sample of wildlife been studied with such attention and intense speculation.  Why?  Because it is now beyond the first week of September and it is a Sunday.

This is the time of year when, traditionally, an extra level of tranquillity is added to our lives by the departure of the neighbours who only come to their house for the two months of the holiday season.  Their stay is characterised by smoke and noise and arrogance.

The older female of the species seems intent on smoking herself to death as she has approached the summer as a opportunity to smoke full-time.  As a refinement on her usual inconsideration she has chosen to smoke while sitting half way out of the window in her living habitat, allowing the breeze to take the noxious fumes into the window of the next-door neighbour.  Thanks to a cunning countermeasure the infinitely resourceful neighbour has constructed a stand for an electric fan to keep the fumes moving towards the neighbour on the other side.  By such means is one’s integrity preserved!

But now is the traditional time for them to go.  And with all the intensity of fanatic twitchers we are watching for those tell-tale signs in the behaviour of the creatures that departure is immanent.

There are some key activities which, to the trained eye, betoken the start of the migration to winter quarters.   The taking in of the plastic chairs carefully positioned around the pool that have been placed in a proprietorial way to mark out territory during the summer is an important event.  The desperation of the step as the last snatching of sunshine is garnered for the dark days in the city.  The frantic cleaning as the house is to be closed up for its winter rest.  All of these are indications that the Plague is going to move on.

But the most important feature is the Bringing Out of the Large Suitcases and seeing them placed firmly in the boot of the car.  Then, and only then, the chilled bottle of Cava can be brought out of the fridge and be prepared for The Celebrations.

Until that final stage of jubilation can be reached we have to go through the TAGS of the Last Day.  Already we have said TAGS (That’s A Good Sign) on a number of occasions this morning as the slightest speech or action of our observed creatures has been analysed to discover how soon they may be going.

I might add that we have no contingency plan for their not going today.  That is truly unthinkable.

On a more human level I have now completed the second of my half credit OU courses with only the examination left to complete next month.

This “Introduction to Material Studies” has, in my opinion, been much more stimulating that the first course, though this one does not necessarily play to my strengths so my revision will have to be much more intense that it was for the last examination.

The one thing that I have, of course, is time – and I fully intend to make the most of the time available to ensure that I am as fully prepared for the test as I can be – though this time I will not have the tension deflecting opportunity to be teaching in the morning before the exam, this time I will have the space to worry more fully before I start writing!

There is a short overlap between this course and my next, but that is only of five days, though it has to be said that the first few days of a course are fairly work directed because you have to make your mark in the tutor group as soon as possible.  But that is something to look forward to rather than worry about.

Toni’s course forum has now opened and he will be working on his course by the time that I have got started on my next, so our paranoia will match and boost our work rate.  At least that is the idea.

As preparation for the next course I have had to do something that I have been threatening to do for the last few years: sort out my books!

Obviously this has not be done with any degree of finality, but a Start Has Been Made.  And it took me two days to recover from the exhaustion that accompanied it.

Sorting the books is made much more difficult because I do not have enough shelf space for the books that I have.  No matter how inventive I am about their arrangement, they will never fit.  So, although the books are more organized that they were - they are still double stacked, and therefore although I still have to hunt for books that I know that I have, at least I am hunting in a smaller geographical space.

In spite of the fact that books are still double stacked, I still have three plastic bags full of “small books” and “notebooks” that have to be sorted out.  Given the paucity of space I have decided to get some box files and put collections of small books in those as the only way that they can be economically stored.  And no, I cannot throw them out!

Our hated neighbours have not left.  They have broken the tradition of past years and not returned from whence they came.  We are now in uncharted territory.  Who knows when they will finally do the decent thing!  I feel like Mister Kurtz.  How right he was!

Tomorrow (in spite of the presence of the neighbours) revision for the present OU course must begin.  The tutor for the course lives in the wilds of Scotland and has been without telephone and wi-fi – the modern equivalent in the OU of having your tongue ripped torn from your mouth and eyes gouged out and stuffed down your throat.  She said that she had been contacting us via an Internet café to try and continue the service!

As far as I am concerned – and indeed as far as the procedures of the university state –she has still got until the middle of the month to get our essays back to us.  In fact, allowing for weekends she has a little more time.  It is just that she set a rod for her own back by being very swift in her general marking, so that any reversion to normality looks like omission.  Bless her!

Meanwhile I have been glancing at the notebooks covering past holidays that emerged back into the daylight in the organizing of the books.  It really does make things much slower when you get involved in some tome that you haven’t seen for a long period of time – especially if the writing is your own!  And untrammelled by the dictates of public publication!

Part of tomorrow will be the organization of the three plastic sacks of “small books” which Toni noticed and asked hopefully if they were all for throwing out!  Foolish child!

Candy Crush has become even more devious.  I understand from the Internet that there are hundreds of levels.  I am at level 26 or so.  When I reached the level the program asked me if I wished to unlock further levels.  When I did so and clicked to continue it gave me options, one of which was to pay (!) for the continuation of the mind rotting game.  Pay!

I refused of course and was then given the option of gaining keys to mysteries to continue my progress.  I was allowed one key a day and then I was blocked.  To continue was to pay, so I have spent two three days waiting for my daily opportunity to continue.

I was successful and am now in the land of Chocolate Mountains (don’t ask) and the clearance of the obstacles to further progress seems to me to be virtually impossible unless you pay.  What a clever game!  It must be making millions! 

Though not from me.

What is everyone else doing?

I think that I have shown exemplary restraint as it is now the 5^th of September and I have not marked the start of the educational term with an extended gloat.  And, indeed, I will do not such thing now.  It is cruel and unnatural to take pleasure in the gloom of others, especially then they are doing essential work for the continuation of . . . .

I can’t keep that up! 

I am finally and irrevocably retired - and life is good! 

I am ashamed to admit that it is not sufficient for me to be happy; others must be miserable and be seen to be miserable for my pleasure to be unalloyed!  I might pay a visit to my old school – no, that is a step too far.  I suppose.

I do see one of my previous institutions every time I go for a swim in my local leisure centre.  This week only the teachers are in school; next week the onslaught of customers will fill those empty corridors and down the silence in a thousand piping voices!  As the weather is fine, the roof of the leisure has been retracted and there is a clear sight of the site of the school in which I have spent a few very pleasant weeks. 

But it has to be admitted that swimming (with the accompaniment of my exclusive choice of short pieces of bone conducted music) is better than being in the classroom.

I should add at this point that after my swim I sit and sip a cup of tea while reading my phone or Kindle, book or newspaper (thank god for the electronic media).  I should add this, but, thanks to Paul B, I no longer read – I play “Candy Crush”.  How are the mighty fallen!  Classic literature and The Guardian to a glorified game of Tetris!

And it is compulsive.  And clever.  Not in the structure of the game which basically consists of lining up similar objects and blasting other objects out of the way, no, that isn’t difficult to understand.  What is really clever is the setting of almost impossible objectives and offering little “cheat” moves for real money.  You want a few extra goes to get rid of the last pesky little objects?  They are yours for 89p.

The game also utilises the social media, urging players to send a life to a friend!  Or get one in return.  All this so that you can watch badly drawn graphics jerk their unconvincing way across your screen and then walk a few steps to get to the next location on what seems like an interminable path to . . . ?  To nowhere.  Just another numbered location on an arbitrary path.  But paying real money to get an edge to get to the next meaningless level.  It is both evil and very clever!

On a more positive level, even the displacement activity magnet that is “Candy Crush” did not managed to stop me completing the last OU essay for this course.  I am now left with the revision for the examination on the 10^th of October and worrying about the essay for which I had taken a rather different point of view from that which would have been the obvious way to approach the essay title.  You see, in spite of what I always say to pupils (sorry, should have got the tense right there, “You see, in spite of what I used to say to pupils when I was teaching and not retired”) that they MUST ANSWER THE QUESTION; when I am put in the situation where I have to put my advice into practice, then I am always looking for the road less travelled and making my work that much more difficult by trying to find a wrinkle that makes it different.  We shall see.

Part of the displacement activity entailed Irene, Toni and myself going to a meal in an expensive Italian restaurant called “La Tagliatella.”  This is a chain and Irene had eaten in two other restaurants and was not prepared for the generally low standard that we experienced in the Anec Blau establishment.

Our first waitress was a sullen little girl who acted as though her work was part of Community Service.  To be fair the second person to serve us was excellent, bright, intelligent and responsive – though that did not stop the kitchen getting the meals mixed up.

The food: I have never, ever, in my life ever been to an Italian restaurant where they said that they did not have any more Bolognese sauce!  It was like a bad joke!  When the first course of Provoletto arrived after we had been told that it had been enthusiastically recommended by friends of Irene we started in disbelief at a plate of melted cheese with a few chopped vegetables on it.  For €8.90!  The pasta dishes were OK, but not for €15.20!  A grossly overpriced meal.  Though the sweet was excellent – as well it should have been at €6!

And now we await the general departure of our obnoxious neighbours as September demands their presence elsewhere.  We hope.  The bottle of Cava is cooling waiting to be mixed with the lemon sorbet to try and recreate the excellent refreshment we had in Irene’s barbecue.  It is the only way I can think of to encourage Toni to drink more than a thimble full of Catalonia’s national drink!

And now to phone teachers!  Cheap entertainment!

It was the best of times, it was . . .

Breaking a cardinal rule of Creative Writing, I shall start with the weather.

It has not been good.  It has rained.  Rained!  And August is still with us.  Just.  There is an end of summer feel and there is a distinct chill in the air.  Well, chill is perhaps putting things a little too strongly, but it did merit a thin sheet on the bed last night.  All of these things are not significant, but what I saw at the poolside yesterday surely is.

Along the side of the pool under a cloud filled sky and perched malevolently on flimsy loungers, the hags of the area ignored the less than equitable temperatures and sat there busily smoking as their version of the unlovely ladies who surrounded the guillotine knitting.

As I made my way up and down the pool, my ears carefully stoppered and the music pumping through the bones of my cheeks with my head underwater for a lot of the time, I was at least spared the penetrating cackle of those carcinogenic cows.  They did however, even in the open air, manage to channel their opprobrious exhalations so that each in-breath I took was polluted with their noxious nicotine!

Even my relentless up-and-down approach to swimming failed to move them as the doggedly ignored the obvious inclement weather and stayed there as if defying the end of summer.  It comes, my dears!  You can no more hold it back with your reeking breath than you can get me back into a classroom!

September looms in the very near distance and with it the culling of the juvenile population of the area.  We retired people cannot wait for the shops and streets be returned to the people who have bloody well paid for them.  The penetrating voices of the little emperors will be consigned to the classes where my ex-colleagues will have to do what they can with kids who have been solidly and relentlessly indulged for the last two months.  God help them and god bless them.  The teachers I mean!

The last OU essay of this course drags on and it is now about half way through the drafting stage.  I have decided to change the title to suit myself and write as if there is no word limit as I know what I want to say and I also know that I am very good at editing – when I have to.

I am ashamed to admit (which, of course, I am anything but) that I have bought another watch.  It is a long time since I have been struck by a timepiece – and that, surely is justification alone for buying it.

This one is by the well-known watch designer Kenneth Cole of New York.  Yes, and neither had I until this afternoon.  Anyway, it is brown metallic with a face which looks as though the watch is set in a disk of glass with only the central circle of the watch face of solid colour and with the numeral indicators radiating like spokes encased in glass bound by the metal rim.  And it is luminous and waterproof.  Elegant and original – though a little more expensive than an impulse buy should be.  So sue me!

Like a plague carrier Paul B. breathed the words “Candy Crush” into my shell-like before he left and, like a fool, I explored a little and have now become addicted to a game which plays on one’s desire to cheat and actually offers “help” but at a price in real money to allow the inexpert player to bend the rules and have a little extra to get to the next level.  The game is of generally mindless imbecility, the graphics are of Captain Pugwash sophistication and there is no reward.  What more can you ask!  I have even neglected my beloved patience.

One of the fiendish elements in “Candy Crush” is that you are only allowed a certain number of lives before the game stops you while offering the opportunity to buy (with real money) a full set of lives or to go on line and ask friends for lives.  I am not quite sure about that because it asks for you to do so on Facebook – a social media I spurn as I would a rabid dog.  After a certain number of minutes the lives are restored, but they are restored one by one and over hours.  I can well imagine a person thinking that eighty-nine pence a small price to ask for the ability to continue to indulge an addiction!  I, however, am made of sterner stuff.

Tomorrow a tutorial with the dreaded Elluminate (if it works) and a draft to finish so that I have time to tart it up with accurate references and construct a bibliography to impress.

Then revision starts leading up to the examination on the 10^th of October.  This time I am not going to be able to rely on well-established personal knowledge and I am going to have to do a certain amount of hard learning.

Driving Art

Sometimes, when reading a book a sentence leaps off the page at you.  There is a moment’s pause for reflection and then you murmur something like, “I wish I had written that!”  Occasionally the sentence will be a pithy aphorism, or a piece of illuminating insight; but there are other times when the writer will have inadvertently touched some part of your psyche (or what you think is your psyche) and all your pretentions are suddenly laid bare.  But only, of course, to yourself because, if you are wise you keep such revealing spotlights private.

I once told one of my better A Level students that one of my favourite collections of short stories was “Stalky and Co” by Rudyard Kipling.  She instantly procured a copy and read it immediately and in the next lesson (by which time she had read the book – she was that sort of student) she looked at me in the withering way that she had and in her most condescending voice she told me that she wasn’t at all surprised by my choice and that it told her a lot about me.  Which it did and does.  And perhaps I should have kept my mouth shut.  But that is not a realistic possibility for me!

So, having read one of those revealing sentences this very morning while waiting in the post office to send off an artistic hint to my painter friend while protecting my sanity by reading my mobile phone, I can no more keep it to myself than I would be capable of saying, “I have no opinion on that subject!”

I am frolicking my way through a digital collection of three “Classic” books by Christopher Hitchens called “Long Live Hitch” and am at present reading through his authoritative book reviews and have reached his writing about The Case of Comrade Tulayev and Memoirs of a Revolutionary, by Victor Serge.  The second paragraph of this review starts,

After Dostoyevsky and slightly before Arthur Koestler, but contemporary with Orwell and Kafka and somewhat anticipating Solzhenitsyn, there was Victor Serge.

Now that is what I call a sentence! It doesn’t take much analysis to see what I responded to there, but I almost squeaked out loud as I read it sitting on an unrelenting window ledge in a hot, stuffy and overcrowded waiting area in the Post Office. 

A large part of the delight is in the fact that I have read books by all the authors mentioned except for Victor Serge, the focus of the review!

That is surely almost a perfect “hit” for a reviewer: to lasso and flatter the reader with a list of common reads and then tacitly assume that you, the reader, are acquainted with the author under discussion.

You can guarantee that I will find something by Victor Serge because I would not like to disappoint the reviewer by not being the reader he thought I was!

Yesterday was taken up with a trip to Figueras, in the province of Girona to pay a visit to the Teatro-Museo Dalí.

This is an artistic centre that I have long wanted to visit – though with a certain degree of the Masochistic about such a desire because I am very much with André Breton who dismissed Dalí by reworking the letters of his name into the accusation of “Avida dollars” arguably the most famous insulting anagram in modern art!  With the exception of a few exceptional canvasses I have always regarded Dalí as a fraud.  So I did not anticipate that the geodesic dome topped, reclaimed ruin of a theatre with a bread-studded façade would necessarily change my mind.

Having to queue in scorching sunshine for far too long and then push your way through heaving masses of tourists who were there because they had been told to go was not my way of enjoying myself.  However, the experience (because experience it certainly was) was at least interesting.

The quality of art on display ranges from the compelling to the embarrassing – though I am sure that true Surrealists would say that was as much as they could hope for!

I bought a guide in the bookshop on the way out and I will read that in a more leisurely way than the visit itself.  Perhaps I will be tempted to return at a more out of season time to reassess!

Lunch was a triumph of the Internet, as Toni scoured that source to the full to find a place off the tourist beat and where for €10 we got a thoroughly satisfactory meal.  I would give you the name of this establishment but the information I took as I left later became a featureless piece of cooked pulp as the heat and humidity of the day turned my pocket into a steam oven!

I used the GUC to take a few decent pictures and I think that I am getting closer to knowing what I am doing when I press the button.

There was a lot of driving in the day and I did not so much fall asleep when I went to bed as fall into a coma.

Today was supposed to me the day on which I started to draft my last OU essay of this course. 

This has not happened, but the day isn’t over yet. 

And anyway there is Sunday.

And furthermore, what the hell, I have until the 5^th of September to get it done.  I think.