Noise all around I hear! (10 letters)

It must be us!

We hate all our neighbours with equal venom: one has dogs that bark; another has a grandson who has to be talked to so the rest of the neighbourhood can hear; another has vile offspring with even viler friends; another has a wonderful house with its own swimming pool and yapping dogs, and so on.

On Sunday morning, however, it was The Shouties.  Immediately opposite us is a block of flats, but they seem to be an exercise in communal living because, as far as we can see, they are infested by one extended family.  And they shout.  They are unable to communicate in voices in anything resembling normality so whenever they are in movement they sound like riders in the Wild West keeping the cattle together.  There are at least three generations of Shouties living there and they are all characterized by the same proclivity and shout where ever and when ever possible.

At a quarter past eight on Sunday morning the Shouties started shouting and it gradually grew into a convention of the sotto voce challenged.  Cars appeared and parked in front of our driveway, more and more people appeared who greeted each enthusiastically and loudly.  More and more of these idiots turned up while some sort of manager figure clutching a sheet of paper yelled encouragement at each new arrival.

My usual strategy at this type of parking is to go out onto the street and take a photo of the car’s number plate with my mobile phone.  This usually gets a fairly rapid response as people in this area are not shy in calling out the mobile cranes to come and remove illegally parked vehicles.

Thanks to the alleged destructive behaviour of our next-door neighbours the post separating our two driveways has been knocked down.  This allows the dog owner to make a sweeping approach across our driveway to park (illegally) outside her house.  Her ineptitude is so great that the post made it impossible for her to approach her demesne, so the Family Effort got rid of it.  The last time they did this (they have done it three times) I took a photo of the back of the car showing the indentation on the bumper where it had knocked into the post and dislodged it.  Denunciations have achieved nothing, though it was pleasing to see her car towed away once because of her “parking”!

The Shouties eventually yelled away in their procession of cars and left the street to quietness and to me!

As the popular demand is for chocolate and more chocolate, “Chocolate Week” has been extended for another five working days and I have donned my pinny and tired to make more professional sweets than the last time.

My attempt to find marzipan failed again and I was forced to make some myself – at least I was able to get some ground almonds and then make the icing sugar myself too.  Not haute cuisine admittedly but more effort than I wanted to put in.

I have now produced a series of round, glacé cherry centred, marzipan wrapped, chocolate covered things which are hardening in the fridge even as I type.  They should almost be ready to be topped with a swirl of coloured gunge which I can apply from little pipettes with the coloured extrusion ready to be squirted.

I also found something which purports to be rhubarb.  It comes in a paper tube and looks like sugar and I think it is something related to a laxative but that did not stop my trying to recreate the mythical “White chocolate with rhubarb” bar that I found and devoured on one unique occasion and have never found since.  Even if the chocolates do not match the taste of the original experience, they should be useful and, how can I phrase it, easeful?

Today, Monday is one of the testing days for me as a two-hour meeting is scheduled after school and I am determined not to attend.  I will have to see how my absence is regarded.  Not only am I going to cut this meeting, but I am also planning to leave school early!  Such audacity!  I only hope that I get away with it: I am relying on my White Knight status to allow such unheard of liberties.  Perhaps I should go around muttering “Après moi, le deluge!” to remind people of what life could be like if I walk!

Sunday evening was taken up with much reading of Engels and writing something on the Forum which could count for a mark if I decide not to do the essay.  The response from the other students has been limited, presumably as they are all still ploughing their way through the text, but it is of little use to me as there is very little for me to respond to.  And in the right-on world of the OU “responding” is the heart and soul of our work!

The weather is soulless and dull and it has conveyed its negativity to the teaching staff – or to me.  And I want to go home.

Unfortunately the whole day (almost) stretches ahead with its forbidding length.  There is marking to be done (which was not done yesterday or the day before or the day before that) but it does not appeal.  I will read the first five chapters of Hard Times and make notes about the descriptions and add something more to the Forum and in the lively expectation of provoking some sort of writing from somebody else.

Intolerable!

There must be a formula for working out how much pure noise a pair of young children are capable of making; something like lung capacity times inclination plus the sum of space and reverberation to the power of adult irritation!

I have noticed more and more in recent times how much I am growing towards the living embodiment of a boring old fart that I used to turn my eyes to heaven about when I was a cynical schoolboy. 

The real paradox of life is that the seemingly ironic schoolboy and the superficially staid adult are both right and have total justification on their sides for their particular view of life and how it should be lived.  The difficult thing is that they cannot co-exist, even though they obviously do in my memory and experience!

Isn’t it in The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe that when the children come to the professor’s house they are told that he doesn’t want to be disturbed by childish noise and they have to amuse themselves quietly.  But the professor is invigorated by the sound of the young enjoying themselves. 

I am probably conflating a couple of novels here but I do understand the contradiction between the youthful vitality and more placid contentment.  I also realize that irritation could have been eliminated by the use of a decent pair of headphones that presumably were not available for our harassed professor, and certainly not with the quality of music that I am able to access at the stroke of a computer key!  And behold the hysteria of kids being bathed is suddenly lost in a brilliant performance of Concerto for Orchestra by Bartok (with or without the accents!)

At some point or other I am going to have to do some marking.  I made the fundamental mistake of not doing a single script on Friday evening.  That omission means that the probability of my completing the marking that I have to do falls from the level of “high probability” to “vague possibility” at best.  There is more likelihood of my reading the first five chapters of Hard Times and submitting my thoughts about the presentation of the landscape through Dickens’ writing than there is of my putting a red mark on a hapless student’s paper.

And that is another thing.  I have decided not to use a red pen when marking.

There is of course real research to back up my disinclination to splash red on a student’s script.  We are told that red is the colour of failure and the more we write on a script the less a student values it.  We are told that it is a disincentive for a student’s improvement – and all sorts of other shit.

None of the foregoing makes the slightest difference to me.  I am not marking with a red pen because I cannot be bothered to buy red disposable fountain pens and I don’t like marking in red ballpoint.  Even with my disposable pens there is a difference in the flow of ink between the red and the blue and the black.  The one which I feel most at home with is the blue and therefore I have decided to mark in blue not matter what colour the kids have chosen to write in.  I can justify it in all sorts of educational ways, but it is basically because I prefer writing with a blue Pilot disposable pen.  So there.

As you can tell, I am working up to a prickly assertiveness because we are getting ever closer to a plethora of meetings to which I am disinclined to go.

The first test will be tomorrow afternoon when there is an overlong meeting to explain why we are changing our results electronic platform yet again.  Although I may not have to go to this meeting I may well be asked to cover other colleagues’ lessons to allow them to attend as, for a wonder, the meeting has been scheduled in school time.  I think.

I have delayed getting my password for school e-mail for as long as was decently possible – and beyond – but now I am firmly on the system and therefore I will have been official informed about the things that I will have ignored.  It therefore follows that some things I will be expected to grace with my presence.  This is obviously not my intention.  I teach: at all other times I am n/a and that should be respected.  I am only hoping that they are grateful enough that I am there to deflect the ire of parents who, not unreasonably expect their kids to be taught with a generous degree of continuity.  Which is what I represent.  God help us!

As a chunk of what I have recently purchased in terms of CDs I am now the proud possessor of “The All-Baroque Box” which represents an exhaustive selection of the Baroque holdings of a considerable number of recordings that I could not afford when I was in University.  Such labels as Archiv and L’Oiseu-Lyre were the ultimate in authenticity and high priced exclusiveness.  Now, at bargain price I have 50 discs of which the first two are of a recording that I bought in a record sale some thirty odd years ago! 

The records are long gone – their last place of residence being in the loft of the Pauls’ house where they lay for some time until the ceiling in the bedroom began to sag with the weight of the records and they were unceremoniously sold off to a grasping bastard in the indoor market for a fraction of their value!  Now, the crystal clarity of the sound (as it never really was on the records) delights anew!  And there are 48 other discs waiting to delight and instruct me!  Sooner or later the record companies are going to realise that they can get much more for what they are offering that they are being paid.  Until then I will take great pleasure in expanding my holdings of decent quality discs and gloat the while!

We are now beyond that magic time on a Sunday which takes up the school day.  The time left is equivalent to the normal time during the working week when things have to be done.  This is also the time where one realises that one has done nothing of what one proposed to do at the other end of the weekend when time seemed to stretch endlessly into the future.  It is yet more proof, if any were needed, that it is essential to do something on Friday evening if you expect to get things done before Monday and the start of school.

There is still time, of course, for me to get something done, but I think that I would rather type about the possibility rather than make possibility reality.

And I have put the new (and markedly more successful) chocolates into plastic containers ready for their being taken to school tomorrow to extend the Chocolate Week into its second week.

And now marking.

Where's the sun?

The day has started with a grumpy sort of sullenness which is not the ideal incentive to gird loins and get to the swimming pool.  Nevertheless, my desire for physical exercise has the added inducement of displacement activity as I should now be penning a description of Coketown as outlined in the first five chapters of Hard Times.  This little exercise is more difficult that it should be because I have lost a book.  Lost electronically!

I last read Hard Times in an eBook format and experimented with highlighting and associating notes with the highlights in a more than adventurous manner.  All lost!  I have tried computer after Kindle and nowhere is the edition of the book that I used to be found.  I have bought a new edition (OU approved) but I cannot believe that this new version has written over the last one.  My book must be there, but lurking is some sort of obscure folder that I have not yet opened.

The ironic thing is that this is an electronic example of what is hidden behind closed doors of the IKEA Billy bookcases in the living room – chaos.  It is nice to see that electronic verisimilitude extends to mirroring human indolence and lack of organization in the so-called real world!

The weather, as is the way in this country, perked up a bit and we had a few scraps of sunshine, but then there was a half hearted attempt at rain and now we are back to “brightly dull” which is the default position of this climate when it is not sunny.

Chocolate Week, by popular demand, has been extended to an unprecedented Second Week and I have taken it upon myself to promise further chocolates made with my own fair hand.  I have been stymied in this laudable intention by a complete lack of suitable raw materials not provided by our local Carrefour.  I am yet to find a shop which actually sells marzipan for example!  Such barbarism!

I trust that I have learned from my last attempts and this batch (should I get the stuff) will be a marked improvement.  I shall attempt to make them substantially smaller and each to have a little less sweetness than the normal daily sugar intake of a family of six!

Perhaps we can go to St Boi and the hypermarket before we have our meal-  As it turned out it was after the meal that we went there – and no marzipan was to be had for love nor money.  But the meal itself was interesting.

When I first arrived in Castelldefels I used to go to a restaurant called Club Lancaster.  I thought it was the last thing in value for money and interesting food.  I still remember with warmth and appreciation the first leaving of a bottle of wine on my table.  Should I drink it or was it just left there as a forgetful gesture of a harassed waiter?  I thin I actually asked!  Much to the amusement of the waiter who urged me to drink.  And drink I did.  So this is living in Spain, I thought to myself.  How good can it get?

Well, with experience, a bloody sight better!  And now that restaurant has closed down and an brand new Indian restaurant has taken its place.  Admittedly only one of the chefs is actually Indian, all the rest are Pakistani – just like the so-called Indian restaurants in Britain – but the food was good.  Over-priced possibly, but good nevertheless.  Somewhere to take the Pauls when they come over!  And we were given two shots before we left – which is a positive invitation to come back!

I have failed to find any marzipan.  I will be driven to go on YouTube to find out just how it is made!

I do have glacé cherries so it is possible for me to make the super-calorie sweets that I mad previously though I do have some calorie reduced ingredients to help make them this time – and a little less calorifically explosive!

Tomorrow is a workday in which the horror of marking has to be leavened with the delights of writing about Dickens.

Roll on Monday!

Little to big!

Unless I am kidding myself, and that is more than possible, I think that at long last the mornings are getting a little lighter.  This makes the obscenity of getting up at half past six at night (I refuse to say morning) a little more bearable.

One of the worst things about dark mornings was opening the gate.  I have rationalised my keys into two bunches: the larger bunch comprises my home keys and the more metallic and clinky bunch signifies school. 

From the mass of home keys I have to select one of the smallest keys to open the lock of the gate.  In the darkness it was always a problem finding the tiny opener.  What made it worse was the fact that I had a key-ring light to make things easier – and it didn’t help.  But the fact that it should have helped made the fumbling for the right key all the more frustrating.

It has taken me the best part of a year to work out a solution.  The M&S trolley coin (which I bought in aid of something or other) came with its own little line and chain to link it to your key fob.  I have now dispensed with the “coin” - which didn’t even work in the UK – and put the two house keys on that.  The end result is that if I hold the car key electronic opener, the house keys fall below the rest of the keys and are easy to find, even in the dark.

Why is it that we put up with irritation when it can be solved so easily?  Well, I have tried to work this out and it is, in my view, the fortuitous concourse of minor inconveniences that preclude immediate action. 

For example, my key fob has a central ring that is very difficult to open to get the keys out to place them elsewhere.  To do it effectively you need something like a screwdriver.  And the keys are always somewhere else when you feel the need to do something about it. 

Yes, I know, it is hardly asking a lot to get up from the chair and find the coat which contains the keys, but somehow one just doesn’t do it and then one forgets about it, until one is reminded by using the keys again.  But when you are reminded about it, you are already off to the car to go somewhere and the work remains undone.  Prevarication is always an immediate comfort, whereas action seems too much of an effort!

The tiny job is now done and the difference in stress levels as the keys virtually fall into place each time I need them makes one question what other tiny interventions could have a further disproportionate positive effect!  But indolent indifference will preclude my discovering just what I can change!

We are working our way towards the centre of the dark realm of Serious Examinations and (yet again) we have decided to change the “platform” that we use to put the Sacred Results in an electronic form.  Meetings are threatened in the near future to explain this new system and then meetings about the results and then meetings about . . .  and so on.  I intend to be unobtrusive to the point of absence for all of them.  It just depends if I am allowed to emulate the character in The Hunting of the Snark!

The retirement of The Painted Whore of the Seven Hills (if I may be permitted to quote one of the more outspoken Protestant critics of the dictatorial reign of a past jumped-up Bishop of Rome) could be lauded if it represented the head of that corrupted and corrupting religion finally taking responsibility for the multitude of disgraceful scandals which have blighted his leadership. 

But no, like the most blatant of bankers there is no word of apology for his destructively intolerant “ideology”, his illiberal attitude and his mendacious cover-up of illegal activities. 

He shouldn’t have been allowed to retire – he should have been sacked!

Although compared with some of his illustrious predecessors he is as a lamb!

Chocolate Week continues with a few bumps along the way with one horrendous day when the Chocolate Box in Building 4 had to be opened to the public to forestall armed rebellion when the chocolate offering of the day did not appear!  Insurrection was thus frustrated.  Today there is a delay as the chosen teacher for the provision of chocolate is doing something of less importance in another school.  I am assured however that the chocolate will appear at a later point in the day – though by then I will be in another building and not able to partake of the goodies! 

But no, just as I typed that, who should appear but the teacher in question, bearing gifts of milk and white chocolate chip cookies.  Life is good again!  Thank god for teachers who have their priorities right and ensure that their colleagues are fully chocolated before they go and do their duty elsewhere!

In spite of the fact that my iPhone’s connected to my . . .  iPad and my iPad’s connected to my . . .  iMac and my iMac’s connected to me – I still manage to miss messages.  I have so many platforms to jump into communications that my electronic life is like an over-fussy Olympic diving board array and messages still pass me by.  In my own defence I feel that some messages prefer individual platforms and not all my messages go everywhere.  I am sure that is not true but it is a way of saving face when furious people ask me why I have bothered to fully-Mac myself if it does not lead to a greater sense of connectedness.

Of course, I would maintain, in the best Satchmo traditions, that anyone who asks a question like that would not understand the answer!

Tomorrow lunch with Irene and a session of moaning, groaning and putting the world to rights, with a side dish of financial discussion.  

Who are we kidding!