The Long Road to Lightness

Half a kilo may not be much, but given that it was a week that included the New Year celebrations, I think that I can be satisfied.  I am not sure that I am still on track to meet one of my spurious targets by April but I have survived the festivities and there is less of me now than there was.  Result.

            The fact that I am resorting to half kilos is significant in itself.  I cannot believe that I have got rid of all the easy stuff and the rest is going to be hard slog and denial.  I suppose that the wine with the meal is the next thing to go, but I firmly believe in the health-giving properties of red wine and playing with the conflicting concepts of indulgence and health. 

I have just discovered my ‘ideal’ weight and, even at the most generous estimate from the friendliest formula I would have to be in comestible refusal for another umpteen months.  Assuming a steady weight loss I would be looking at next autumn before I was anywhere near!  Finding this out was something I should not have done!  I will therefore do a brainwash and revert to my arbitrary goal which is reachable by April.  Then (and if) I am anywhere near what I am aiming at, I will look again at the Forbidden Numbers!

            How can one be a symbol of rectitude when visitors and meals and celebrations and Other Events will combine to divert me from my chosen path?  The April thing is doable, I think, and that is the one that I am going to stay with and aim for and congratulate myself mightily if I get anywhere near it.

            Today, apart from my swim, has been a lazy day. 

My swimming is getting better; my strokes are more powerful and my energy level is rising.  I do not, however, stay in the water for longer than half an hour, so I stand the chance of becoming the best 30-minute swimmer in Castelldefels. 

I am not pushing myself further because although I enjoy swimming, I also find the sort of swimming that I do intensely boring.  For half an hour I can stand it – even like it – but for longer and I am counting the seconds. 

I know perfectly well that, to gain the most from the exercise you have to go that little bit further each time.  I know it and that is as far as the knowledge goes, it does not influence action.  The only times (in the distant past) when I have actually trained for swimming I was almost crying with boredom and fatigue at the end of each session.  Even rugby training (and I hated that with a vengeance) wasn’t as boring as swimming with some dry Fascist holding a stopwatch.  So what I do is what I am going to continue to do and I shall comfort myself with the knowledge that it is more than most will have done!

            The OU story is getting no further.  The bones of the bloody thing are in place, or rather in places – they do not add up to a full skeleton as yet and there is no putting flesh on it until the bones make some sort of sense.  At least I have the title.  What I don’t have is too much time left to get it all done.  I must knuckle (I wonder where that particular bone is on my structure at the moment) down and get on with it and submit something on time.  I really do not want to ask for an extension – though I am sure that many of my fellow students will be asking for exactly that.

            What I really need to do is get my Kings card done.  I have the photograph and I could easily email it to those kind people who sent me a Christmas card.  I suppose it would make me feel just a tinge less guilty – although I have not sunk to the depths of one of my friends who sent me a Christmas card with a British second-class stamp on it.  Now that is what I call optimism! 

Interestingly the card did arrive with a large printed sticky label on the back from the British Post Office informing me that the postage was insufficient and therefore the card had been delivered by an alternative service which may have taken a little more time! 

This is the first time that this has happened and it is a direct encouragement to be mean with the postage, underpay and let it be delivered a few weeks late.  I wonder what the alternative delivery system actually was.  There was no indication that it was anything other than the Spanish postal service, so one is left to speculate.  Does this mean that there is a human side to the postal system that we had never previously suspected?  Or is this something which only occurs at Christmas?

Tomorrow Christmas will be officially over – though it turns out that Twelfth Night and the taking down of the decorations was a Victorian invention to encourage workers to get back into the right frame of mind to start working again.  In days gone by decorations might have been left up for a month or three, thereby adding a touch of warmth and festivity to the cold and bleak months of winter.  However, the Christmas cards (our only concession to the festive season) will be taken down when I get up tomorrow and that will be over for another year.

Next year I am determined to put the Christmas tree up.  I actually bought some new decorations from Lidl (!), put them in a cupboard and have done nothing with them.  Next year they will come out with all the delight of something new and strange.  Yes, next year the tree will be there – even if Christmas Humbug is much more to my taste.

Next week my next box set should arrive.  This time it is a bargain box of ballet music which would be ideal to put on my swimming mp3 player.  Unfortunately my computer refuses to recognize the thing as a hard drive and so I can do nothing with it.  Luckily it is full (and I mean full to the last atom) with music and it will take me a considerable time to have exhausted the possibilities of the number of tracks that are contained in it.  Though I have to admit that some parts of ‘Pictures at an Exhibition’ do seem to come round with suspicious regularity, together with ‘Hit me with your rhythm stick.’  The one thing you can say about my choice in music is that it is inclusive – with the exception of Rap obviously.

Now I have to decide: card or story?  Choices!

Knowing me, probably neither.

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!