The important things in Life

It is always difficult to work out how significant one’s life actually is in what ever scheme one believes one is in, but when finding one’s swimming lane free is the most important element in a normal day, then one can’t help feeling that something is way out of kilter in the way that one is living one’s life.

But hey, you know, such things are important.  The feeling of anguished frustration when the three swimming lanes are occupied by other people, well, swimming has to be experienced to be believed.  It is just as well that one is, to all intents and purposes naked and therefore unable to pack a gun that those selfish people disporting themselves in water that should be left for me, are still alive and kicking.

Imagine my incensed chagrin when I found one of the occupied lanes taken up with a mother and her child.  The child, to add insult to injury, was splashing about on a polystyrene tube and therefore not swimming according to the Act.  I glared at them with the intensity that only a myopic person who is mostly guessing what is going on in the distance can muster and clumped my dispirited self to the ‘open’ section of the pool there to swim with the damned souls who do not plough their way up and down and up and down like we regulated monomaniacs who refer to ourselves as ‘proper’ swimmers.

I let myself into the water after kicking off my regulation slip-on plastic shoes (alas, the days of doing a racing dive into the pool are long gone) and started the ritual of getting ready for my swim.  At one time all I needed was a swimming costume and myself and I was good to go.  Now, in Catalonia you have to wear slip-on shoes to get to the pool from the changing rooms and then in the pool wear a swimming cap.  For me, in my hursuitly challenged state, a swimming cap is like a studied insult – but, let it pass, let is pass.

            Shoes and cap are regulation for the pool.  I add checking that my ear plugs are in place and secure and then fit my goggles to which I fit my mp3 player which attaches to the strap at the back of my head with the ‘loudspeakers’ pressed into my cheeks so that the music is actually transmitted to my ears via bones.  Ah, the wonders of modern science.

            By the time I was ready to go, one of the friendly lifeguards had noticed mother and child taking ‘my’ lane and sternly ordered them out so that I could swim.  The lovely man even picked up my shoes and put them firmly at the head of the lane so that it was officially booked.  As mother and child moved to the ‘open’ section of the pool (where they should have been in the first place) I smiled what I hoped was a mixture of apologetic regret mixed with a tinge of don’t do it again – I sometime expect a lot from my facial expressions!

            My swim then continued in the tranquil seclusion of my roped off universe and the whole day was made good and fine.

And that’s my point.  If I can write 500 words about getting a lane for my daily swim – then perhaps I should rethink my priorities.  Or not, of course.

Tomorrow is my weigh-in day and I fear that the almost inexorable downward slide of my weight will have been arrested by my flexible approach to the 20% rule (you can eat what you like as long as it’s only a fifth of your intake and you don’t go mad) and what might be called my flouting of it.  Still, I have always lived in unreasonable hope and I will continue to do so.  Therefore, self-delusion will reign supreme at some time during the morning tomorrow and I only hope that gravity will not be so stubborn as to deny me a light pleasure.

The wind and the rain are unsettling me now and I feel the need for one of my virtually tasteless cups of Oolong tea; the pleasure is found in the ‘almost’, you have to work to get your enjoyment from the more subtle brews!

And tomorrow the finishing off of the short story and the preparation of the constructive lying about what went into producing it.  Of the two pieces of work the ‘reflection’ is always the more imaginative!

Back on course?

It is always a good thing to have a quest to start the year – mine is to rediscover my waist.  A thing of legend, it is now time for it to be brought back into the land of reality.  There are some doubters who aver that it has been lost forever and that there is something slightly sacrilegious about the mere idea of bringing the fabulous into the quotidian.  But I say that the impossible is always worth the attempt!

            From now until April the Great Attempt will be made and the assessment will be carried out scientifically with measurements being made to ascertain if The Waist has been achieved.

            Meanwhile there is time to ponder on the number of days which have gone by without my taking finger to key to add to the literary depth of the on-going documentation of my responses to living.  Ah well, nothing very serious, merely laziness and disinclination adding to the increased speed of time passing have made the days evaporate with even more speed than usual.  Now back to something like normal.

            The lead up to Christmas and New Year were unremarkable except for their almost complete lack of festive spirit.  After an unremarkable build up, the inevitable anti-climax of the events themselves were not as soul searing as usual and were tolerated with stoic enjoyment!

            The OU course is meandering its way along with a climax approaching with the production of a long short story for assessment, and immanent assessment at that.  Writing the story is the easy(ish) part – it’s the writing of the way in which it was written and the motivation thereof that is the really difficult part.  The backward justification of what I have written with specific reference to the printed materials, tutor’s comments, fellow students responses and past literature – now that is difficult!  But not impossible!  I hope.

            The continuing effort of the past days has been trying to get my music library onto (into?) The Cloud.  This is achieved by paying Apple yet more money to get space on this ineffable entity which should then enable me to access all my music on all my devices.  Needless to say this has not been as easy as it seemed when the charming gentleman in Apple told me how simple it would be.  Being a dyed in the wood Mac user I have a predisposition to believe all the advertising crap that Apple pushes (and I use the word advisedly) to the hapless slaves of the logo.

            The real problem is getting my Mecano tracks into the system.  They are on an old computer with a different operating system which has not been updated for some time.  This is proving to be troublesome to say the least and three or four attempts to make the transfer have signally failed.  We continue to make increasingly inventive attempts to do something positive with increasing desperation and decreasing success.  The story of computer use.

            One can only hope that this load of inconsequentiality will transmogrify into something slightly more significant in the days to come.

            Hope!

Writing and Drinking

The non-delivery delivery service actually delivered today so perhaps I should stop bad mouthing them because they have done something like their job recently.  Admittedly it is always the same little man, who smilingly hands over the parcel, but it is getting through and I am getting the stuff in almost the number of days that they promise.

Today’s goodies were ink and mugs.  I am a born again believer in double walled glass mugs and have bought two more to prove it.  I have justified the expense by telling myself that the mugs come with filters so that I can make myself increasingly exotic brews.  Which is true as it happens and I have been quite happily producing unique blends of clashing teas to frighten my pallet. My tongue is going to have to be scraped soon if I am to get back to the organic bits actually created by my body.  God alone knows what it is doing to the enamel of my teeth but I will have to be extra assiduous in my dental hygiene until the fad has exhausted itself and I am back to the tried and tested leaves.

The ink (3 bottles of Parker Quink Blue Washable) are on my side table next to my reclining chair in the living room and are probably going to be an accusation against my inaction for some time to come.  In my defence I have bought two hypodermic needles, which is part of the master plan to get ink into the disposable reservoirs of my pens as a laughable attempt at economy.  To be fair, the only reason that I use disposable fountain pens is that I like the nibs that they use, and the flow of the blue ink is better than any other.  Whether I will be as pleased with the Parker ink is yet to be seen.  And that depends on how capable I am at following the inky instructions half understood on YouTube about getting the nib unit out of the pen to allow the ink to get in.  I do however have a few pens on which to work so there is room for spectacular failure before undoubted success.

My swim today was in an empty pool.  For the whole duration of the swim I was the only one.  Indeed for much of the time there was no lifeguard either, so I was in glorious isolation apart from the CCTV which was recording my every stroke.

Being alone in the pool is not the same when there are roped off lanes.  There is nothing quite so enjoyable as diving, or falling in my case, into the smooth surface of an empty pool.  Your ripples define the surface and you crease the sort of weather patterns of rippling contours on the map of the water.  With lanes you restrict your disturbance to a corridor with very subtle interference patterns spreading out.  But even in lanes it is good.  My swim was not particularly fast, but it was strong and steady and accompanied as always by a bewildering succession of pieces of music being played through my cheekbones.  Delight!

As far as my OU course is concerned I have adopted a “I’m going to do my own thing” attitude and produced a number of pieces of writing which I have posted to a deafening silence from the other nineteen members of the tutor group.  I officially don’t care.  I have decided on the work that I want to do and if there are people to comment, good, and if there aren’t, equally good.  Otherwise I am going to be consumed with petty resentment that is going to do me no good at all.  I have enjoyed my writing today and I think that it has some merit.  So that is fine and I am satisfied.

Christmas continues to be felt by its absence, apart from the kind card senders who post their pictures to me with little hope of a return envelope.  Bless them and I have put up the four cards and very nice they look too.

Castelldefels has its few scrappy lights outside the town and some pretty effective one in the main shopping streets.  The central Christmas tree is an electric cone which looks pathetic in daylight and like a shopping centre second-rate decoration at night.  I still have not put up the Christmas tree at home or the Belen.  This weekend is I think an appropriate time to do that.

I have purchased (at cut price) a twisted metal welded box light with three little LEDs in it.  It looks good on the table and I have added a dimmer to make the light acceptable.  In a similar thrust for aesthetic satisfaction Toni has spray painted his watch with chrome as part of a three-day painting programme to transform his timepiece into a thing of glory.  It will, I have been told, have a green strap and lacquered metallic shining by the time it is ready to be presented to the world as a watch reborn.  I am biding my time and thinking of all the ways in which the enterprise can fail, and voicing only a few of my concerns.

With my new CDs I am now almost back to the Baroque in loading them into the computer and I am listening to them on my iPad through the magic of computer sharing.  Quite how that works with the iPhone I am not sure I have just tired to load a track that I am quite certain is in my iMac and I can’t find it.  This is why I should be taking up the classes which are given in the Apple Store in Barcelona.  In the New Year I will go.  Promise.

Tomorrow is the buying of the Christmas presents.  I have warned Toni and tomorrow has been set aside for this to happen.  I still don’t know exactly what we are doing for Christmas Day, but the lack of certainty adds a certain quality of tension to a day which is usually all too predictable.

To the shops!

Up!

I have excuses.  

The .4 of a kilo extra since last week.  Disaster.  

But, as I say, I have excuses.  

Yesterday I went, with Irene to the shopping centre connected to Español’s ground – ostensibly for the buying of Christmas presents.  I had no lively expectation that I would make any purchases but I was tempted by the chance of a chat with Irene and going out to dinner.

The shopping centre was packed and I was lucky to get a space in the massive underground car park, at least within a few minutes after crawling along in the traffic jam to get into the place in the first place.

The shops appeared to be horrific.  We went into a cheap clothes shop and it was like a vision of hell with hordes of people and narrow corridors of passage between shelves and tables stacked with rubbish heaps of items.  After pushing our way around for a little while, I suggested to Irene that I start queuing while she completed the gathering of what she wanted.  This is the delight of having a mobile phone with a library on it – queues are never that much of a problem!

My idea was to go to a restaurant, after we had exhausted our patience shopping, that we didn’t manage to get into the last time that I was there.  Toni and I were told that the place, Morder y Pasta, or a title something like that was excellent value for money.  The fact that we couldn’t get in because there was a vast queue and I was not prepared to wait, in spite of the two kids who had accompanied us bursting into floods of tears at the idea that they would have to eat elsewhere!

Toni and I walked off and we were eventually joined by others who saw the sense in not allowing the very young to be dictators.  Especially as the little buggers had no intention of paying for anything!  Something I always remind myself of.

Anyway we didn’t go and so this was my chance (without kids) to go and find out if the hype was justified.

The place was closed and after asking a passing cleaner, she told me that it only opened at 8 pm.  Later than other places.  We decided that we could do just a little more light shopping and then we should be able to time our completion with the opening of the restaurant.

We arrived ten minutes early and found a vast queue.  Though not as vast as the one in which I had previously refused to wait.  Trying to ignore the increasing wind chill factor we eventually got in and found that we had to pay first!  This, we were told was because once we had got past the till all the food and drink was ‘free’.

The place was quite large with lines of joined tables set in frameworks which came up to about shoulder level to separate them off into sections.  We were ushered into a small corner and then we started to get our bearing and start the meal.

Which was an utter disaster.

The place had all the ambience of a hangar.  The people were noisy and the architecture seemed to force the sound down so that normal conversation was impossible.  The beer ran out within twenty minutes, the sangria was liquid sugar and the white barely drinkable.

The food was unspeakable.  None of it was hot; everything was luke warm and tasteless.  Even the boiled eggs tasted a little strange and their outer surfaces were suspiciously slippery.  It was just awful – I even left my apple quarter eaten, as it was tasteless.

But the range of luke warm tasteless food was remarkable: meat, fish, pizza, salad, sweets, ice cream (which I also didn’t finish) beer, wine, soft drinks, fruit juices.  Everything was there but nothing was quality.

I did eat my money’s worth (€13.95 per person) but I will never go there again and I have put the blame for my weight increase squarely on the food that I ate defiantly and the wine that I endured there.  It’s not my fault.

I have now taken a more Draconian approach and flung away some of the little treats that I had been harbouring in the kitchen.  Now the most exciting thing left for me to eat is cottage cheese.  Life, ‘tis said, is hard.  And with Christmas approaching I am even more concerned about getting below my present stubborn level of kilos before the new year.  We shall see.

The course continues with very few people posting the writing that they should be doing at this stage, presumably everyone is trying to get the next assignment out of the way so that they are not working over Christmas.  Fat chance.

Tomorrow the ink arrives to be the fairly essential ingredient in my drive to refill my disposable fountain pens, though perversely I have now decided to use my computer to produce my Morning Pages because it is much easier and more fluent like that.  Perhaps I will have to go back to the steam driven form of production if only to justify my purchase of imported ink!

I do tend to write poetry with pen or pencil rather than computer – but the poetry section of the course is some months ahead at the moment.  The pens will keep.

There are always excuses or reasons or explanations.  They keep life going!