We have to do lots of planning and paperwork to teach, and I realise how much day to day organising we do. Lessons don't just magic themselves up. Nor courses, especially senior ones with assessment. I fall back on past years. No point reinventing the wheel.
Back to my other job, the house, and I have a half hour talk to Brad at NK Windows. I put the receiver down thinking I've nearly sorted the lead light puzzle; acid test, checking it with Nicki and a tape measure. I visit the site. There's cardboard box on the ground that wasn't there yesterday.
After a swim I go to an exhibition opening at the Physics Room. It spotlights the vulnerability of migrants and refugees: Chinese miners, Behrouz Boochani, a Kurdish-Iranian journalist held on Manus Island for four years. His body is emaciated, his face haunted. His fate, representative of 1000's of displaced people around the world. People very few seem to care about. People wanting to find a safe place to start a new life.
I drop in on Nicki before book club.
My day has been moving, talking, doing and I fall asleep listening to book chat. I left home at 7:30 and I'm exhausted. The book I'm reading is War and Peace. I got halfway through in 1986 whilst working as a chalet girl with my high school friend, Lynley, hosting Hooray Henrys from Knightsbridge in a chalet near Merivale. The chalet was in a small hamlet and our French neighbours wintered their cows and goats in their basements. Our guests, fresh off the plane from London, freaked out. It smelled and they couldn't see city lights or people walking about. It was rural, not to mention French. Anyway, I returned War and Peace to a friend I had borrowed it from. Since then I've been meaning to finish it. This year seemed to fit. An epic soap opera for the epic soap opera of my life. Easy reading but long. Like the rebuild.
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| Buskers at the Arts Centre |
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| No Friend But The Mountains |
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