Ah No, The Years

It's a bit of a thing for me to read John Donne's masterful poem The Anniversary  on this date, and this end of May was no exception. It's a reminder of the sheer joy of discovering JD back when I was a callow sixteen-year-old. So many years have gone by since then, but the genius of the great poet has not dimmed in any way.

And many years of anniversaries have now gone by for me in the happiest of bonds, a lot more than the second of Donne's reign. He looked forward to Years and years unto years with his beloved, whomever she might have been, if she were real at all. I'm neither hoping for nor expecting quite as long as that with my very real and present beloved, but I'm definitely settle for the slightly shorter passage of Years and years, thank you,

Not Really Necessary

Threw out a lot of expired medicines this morning and was deeply glad to do so. I was given a clean bill of health after my back doc checked me out, which was a bit of a relief considering just how cranky my left side has been of late, and I thought I'd better check on the status of the various un-popped pills to deal with back pain in my possession. These dated back to appointments in 2022, but I hadn't realised the expiry dates appeared on the tabs. The doc checked them through and declared only a few to be still efficacious. So I left with a new supply of the key tablet - which I am perfectly happy not to end up taking.

Funny really, happily paying for something I'm determined to avoid taking, if at all possible. But at my age you can't take a lack of medication for granted. Better to see it as a kind of gift.

On Target

May has proved to be my cruelest month, predictably so. And as it lurches to a conclusion I remain in thrall to stiff targets for marking, but now these concern solely work for IBO. So some small relief there.

The funny thing about these targets is that I never feel any sense of achievement in reaching them. Just an empty relief that the key nagging pressure of the day has been released and I can feel free for an hour or so, until tomorrow arrives. Which is where I am now. And where I'm hoping to be this time tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. (And tomorrow and tomorrow.)

Relentless

For once the YouTube algorithm got it right. I chanced upon the outtake Did We Make The Album from the sessions for Crimso's Thrak a few weeks back and I've been going back to it frequently. There's just so much going on over Tony Levin's bass groove that each hearing manages to surprise.

The only constant is that relentless bass line. It sounds like something I could play (on a good day), yet its absoluteness rightness in the moment speaks to a deep unselfish musicianship that only those at the very top of their game can aspire to.

As far as I understand these things, most folks wouldn't regard this as proper music. Which shows I don't really understand these things at all. I just enjoy them, and intensely so.

Pausing For Breath

Eid al-Adha 1447

We prayed at Masjid Darussalam this morning, going for the second shift of prayers for Raya. The mosque is very much in the middle of being renovated, and I found myself joining a small group in a tiny room on the second level, but all was well.

And all was equally well when the family popped round to share some grub with us that The Missus magically cooked up after we'd got back from prayers.

Better than working. (Though I did manage a fair amount of marking in the gaps.)

Feeling The Strain

18.30

Just came round from an afternoon nap and rather wish I hadn't. To say that my head is pounding would be an understatement. A timely reminder that fasting isn't easy. Especially on the first day. Must say, I'm glad there are no more days to follow.

21.17

My head now seems to be back on straight. But still feeling fragile, despite the bellyful of good things (teh tarik, mushroom puffs, dates) I've taken on board. Mildly astonished at achieving my marking targets for the day, which suggests I wasn't entirely wiped out by the fast. (Though that's the way it feels.)

20.18

Have been winding down for the last half an hour or so to bits & pieces from Maestro Ennio Morricone. A wise course of action to pursue. Recommended for all with ears & hearts. Almost fully restored.

Further Ahead

It's pretty late and I still have work-related stuff that needs to be cleared before bedtime. And, yet again, I'm trying not to moan about this, but moaning all the same. But I'm also attempting to see far enough ahead to a time when I won't feel like I have the weight of the world on my aging shoulders.

That time isn't close, I'm afraid. But neither is it so far off as to be invisible. The day is marked in my diary. And on it I will dance. But don't worry, it will be a very private dance. I have no intention of traumatising the innocent. (Or even the guilty, for that matter.)

Ahead

I remain mightily weighed down with marking & other bits & pieces. No point in complaining. There isn't time. In fact, just trying to look ahead is a tricky proposition considering the demands on attention in the present moment.

But we have scanned the horizon and Noi ensured the twinkling lights are back in action, from yesterday, in happy expectation of Hari Raya Haji coming soon. It's also oddly relaxing to look forward to a day of fasting ahead of Wednesday as a way of stepping out of time, even as time relentlessly requires things undone (still quite a number) to be done.

Right, that's it. Back to work.

Meeting Demands

A demanding day of marking, marking and more marking. Brain now fried. Left side & back fiercely aching. And a feeling of being reduced, narrowed, confined.

But the scripts are done, the twinkling lights are back on and I'm full of what Noi terms a 'simple' mee goreng.

The demands met for another day. The bills paid. 

What's In A Word?

I must have been a fish in a past life. - Not a sentence one ever expects to hear, but the source of some little joy when a colleague muttered it this morning.

And a lot better, I'm sure you'll agree, than USB device not recognised, which keeps popping up on the screen of this laptop every time I plug in my trusty mouse, which is, sadly, trusty no longer.

Reality Check

I haven't been impressed with myself lately. That's a good place to be. There are a few things that I know I'm good at. It's important to be reminded of the many, many aspects of life I'm entirely hopeless in. Ouch.

In Two Minds

If I'd heard the Stones' latest single back in 1972 I'd have thought it brilliant - a stone-cold classic, if a little overly produced. I think much the same today, except the idea of a single as a 'classic' no longer applies, does it? And it sounds a bit too much like the 1970s Rolling Stones. I sort of want them to sound their age, even whilst admiring the fact they've still got plenty of fuel left in the engine.

But watching the video just takes me to another level of confusion. I vaguely admire the edginess of it all, but can't help think they're taking it a bit too far. And the AI generated aspects of it are just doing my head in - as young people used to say. I'm all for not going gently into that good night, but this doesn't seem a terribly dignified way to be raging against the dying of the light.

Out Of Time

It seems a lot's been happening of late regarding the sale of some Swatch watches. This on an international scale, in case you didn't know. This involving people in very long queues sometimes behaving badly. 

Let me tell you, I have no understanding of the phenomenon whatsoever. I'm told it involves someone or something named Audemars Piguet and I'm not proposing to find out who or what that is. Or isn't, for that matter.

A Bad Habit

I make it a habit to catch up on what is happening in the world by checking the headlines pretty much as soon as I wake up. And at weekends there's usually time to read a few stories before the day gets into gear.

But given the downbeat nature of every single item from this morning's news I think it might be time to wean myself away from any desire to find out what's going on and pretend none of it is really happening.

I don't recall things being quite this bad in the earlier decades of my life. But they probably were.  

Out Of Balance

Got to the gym just now for the first time in more than a week and a half. It isn't that I've felt reluctant to go. There simply hasn't been time, and that's not by way of a weak excuse. It reflects the unbending reality of the situation. Which strongly suggests that something's out of wack.

The session itself was uneventful. It started out tough, and stayed so, but I did the necessary. So the hiatus in my attendance hasn't been that much of a set-back. But at my time of life sustaining some basic level of fitness has to be a top priority, and it wasn't for a time. Which isn't good at all.

On The Outside

Sitting drinking a cup of tea in a very brief break from pressing concerns earlier today I suddenly thought of the writer Colin Wilson. As a young teenager I had a real 'thing' going with regard to his works, basically as a result of buying his big book on The Occult. I had an unhealthy interest, indeed fascination, with the subject matter, which I only really grew out of once I left school. Then it all began to seem more than a bit silly - which is somewhat reductive of me, but there it is. But back in 1971 I thought Wilson's chunky tome was wonderful and, looking back, I think I learned a lot from it in a slant-wise manner. And I certain broadened my very limited horizons with his more mainstream stuff after getting hold of a second hand copy of The Outsider.

But what struck me this morning was how true one of Wilson's key ideas is, his notion of Faculty X. It's a bit of a silly name for something that, it seems to me now, lies a bit too deep for words. And as I thought of this notion I was reminded of seeing Wilson on some tv programme of quite a popular nature, I think in the early 1980s, and realising as he presented that he wasn't in the slightest bit bothered about not being a respected 'academic' thinker but was genuinely interested in just being himself and communicating what he thought he knew to others.

And that's what his writing felt like: uncontrived, immediate, curious about the strangeness of it all. And not afraid to look foolish. A mindset worth aspiring to, I thought this morning. And still do at the end of the day.

Not Serious At All

There's always a place for mindless enthusiasm in the great scheme of things. Shouting loudly and pointlessly refreshes the spirit. As long as you don't take what you are enthusing over or enraged by too seriously.

Anyone who's ever been triggered by a bad (or good) VAR decision understands this essential truth.

A Positive Note

Present circumstances are such that it's dangerously easy to moan about my line of work. And moan at considerable length. But I don't think that really helps anyone, least of all me. Venting can be a way of letting off steam, but often it turns into a way of generating even more of the over-heated stuff. 

So I'm now deliberately thinking happy thoughts. And here's one. And it's surprisingly true.

It's very hard to think of someone I teach that I actively dislike, even mildly so, or find difficult to like. Pretty much all the students I come into contact with are pleasantly likable in an unforced way. Even the most irritating - and some do meet that description - make up for it by being funny and goofily good-natured. And endearingly fragile somehow.

All My Trials

All you bardolators out there already know that Will loved a pun on travail (a trouble) and travel (as in a journey.) The words would have had the same pronunciation back around 1600, I'm told, and I'm sure the lousily muddy roads between Stratford and the capital played some part in the conjoining of the terms in the great dramatist's (and sonneteer's) mind (there's a lot of this particular pun in the poems, I seem to recall.)

But this is just to say that had he been alive today and experienced the journey, as we did yesterday, from Alor Gajah, down the North-South highway, through the border crossing at Woodlands to this Far Place, he would have thought the same way. It was a travail and a half, I can tell you. And that's all I will say. For now. 

Togetherness

I was a tad reluctant to set off on our weekend jaunt to Melaka, to be honest. This had nothing to do with the nature of the event or the company it would involve, both of which were pull factors. Rather it concerned the sheer non-negotiable amount of work I'm dealing with at present and the lack of any reasonably 'free' time during the week, indeed, weeks ahead to get that done.

Now I'm here, I'm very glad I am. And I've managed to cope, just about, with what demanded to be done. Indeed, past experience suggests this is something of a pattern in my life, and a useful one to recall in moments of reluctance to participate in the flow of real, meaningful, rewarding, life.

Real Achievement

I'd been harbouring an uneasy feeling about Carol Rumens's excellent Poem of the Week feature since her regular posting of poems suddenly dried up in late February. So I wasn't entirely surprised when the news of her death and subsequent tributes were posted in the column this week. Astonishing to think how long she maintained what became my favourite regular feature from any online source. And, just think, it could be accessed for free.

It's an odd consolation in what is often a dark world that Ms Rumens achieved this on top of her own work as a writer. But sad that such an engaging and generous presence (even if mediated on-line) is with us no longer.

Warning Sign

On the way up the hill to Masjid Tentera just now for Friday Prayers I was enjoying the climb in what felt a restful break from the struggles of the day. And then came the sign, hanging off one of the guard-rails adjacent to the steep steps. In stark black capitals on a white background it read: BEWARE OF THE SPITTING COBRA. It woke me from my reverie, I can tell you, as I glanced around the neatly manicured grass on the hillside in case the creature was putting in a mid-day appearance.

It wasn't. Which, oddly enough, provoked disappointment rather than relief. On this, Sir David Attenborough's 100th birthday, it would have felt so appropriate to make first hand contact with the world of the really untamed and dangerous.

Tricky Business

Just filled in a digital arrival card for a journey we're intending to Alor Gajah over the coming weekend. I've completed this one a few times, so you'd think I'd be used to it. But I still manage to find it a fidgety thing to do. I can remember the promises years ago that the advance of IT services would make life easier. 

Can't help but wonder: What happened?

The Wheel Of Fortune

Heard some very bad news today from a friend and colleague regarding a medical problem they are currently dealing with. Life is unfair in what it so often throws at us, without warning. Something worth remembering whenever we reflect on personal good fortune.

But that doesn't mean we shouldn't celebrate good fortune, good times, good health, I think. In fact, I think there's something of a moral imperative to do so. A way of pointing to the balance at the deep heart of things. The thing to remember, for me at least, is that whatever good fortune I experience it doesn't really belong to me.

As a very wise man once sung: You know what they say about being nice to the right people on the way up / Sooner or later, you gonna meet them coming down.

A Little Learning

Spent part of the day conducting lessons on line. Was struck by the fact that such a thing was pretty much unthinkable when I started teaching. Not sure it's particularly efficacious in terms of the learning that takes place. But I'm not sure that questions of genuine learning have ever been front and central in my job in the half century that I've been involved in it.

Low Expectations

There's been a big fat debate on issues regarding cholesterol levels & prescribing statins & the like for as long as I can remember. (Which isn't all that long ago these days, to be honest.) None of this matters to me at the moment since I got the numbers in on my cholesterol levels from last week's health screening and, let me tell you, they look good. Let's face it, when one sees the word optimal on a report regarding one's tired old body, one feels like dancing, doesn't one? Well, this one does.

On The Everyday

Have almost finished rereading Declan Kiberd's excellent Ulysses and Us: The Art of Everyday Living. Found it slipped down a little more easily this time round, though I still found the final chapters went a bit over my not terribly elevated head. Still I enjoyed the flights of fancy on Joyce's relations to Homer, Dante, the New Testament and Shakespeare, though preferring the generally more earthbound stuff as DK makes his way through the great modernist epic on a chapter-by-chapter basis. 

What I'm sure the critic gets right is the novelist's deep understanding of the importance of the everyday, especially in developing our understanding of what it might mean to live decently. It doesn't sound like much of a theme, I suppose, but Joyce is the most surprising of writers. (And my appetite has been well and truly whetted for another go at the greatest novel of the 20C.)

Days

Received a pithily expressive card from John & Jeanette the other day reading: May we live in less interesting times. I endeavoured to live out that sentiment today, recording a Saturday on which nothing of note happened in my life. And that's more than fine by me since it was a perfectly happy day.

Holiday Fun

15.33

Now getting into a distinct holiday mood for the long weekend as we're looking forward to an evening at the theatre watching Roald Dahl's The BFG, in the version put together by the RSC. We're taking along Hakim and the girls on the grounds that this is a treat for the littlun. But it's really for me, as you might have guessed.

More anon.

23.55

Gosh, what a great show! It gets everything right. A kind of compendium of the magic of theatre, with a number of tricks, beautifully carried off, that I recognised, and some new ones, generally of a technological nature, that I didn't. The lighting alone was worth the price of admission.

But the deepest magic of all involved in the show is that it entirely captures the magic of Dahl's fictional world for children: unrelenting energy, glorious vulgarity, unabashed sentimentality and unrestrainedly cheerful anarchy.