TIME

Already, the first month of the year has gone - that's another month closer to the grave! On the bright side, Spring must be just around the corner because I left somewhere at 5.10pm today and the sky was still light. Apparently, it gets lighter 12 minutes earlier each day.

A Literary 'Yeah But No But'

Madame Bovary not Anna Karenina
Nabokov or Gogol not Bulgakov
John Donne not Andrew Marvell
TS Eliot not Ezra Pound
Emma not Pride and Prejudice
Swift not Pope
Mrs Dalloway not To the Lighthouse
Raymond Carver not Ernest Hemmingway
Hamlet not Lear, Othello, or Macbeth
King James version not New International version
The New Statesman not The Spectator
The Observer not The Sunday Times
The Mayor of Casterbidge not Jude the Obscure
A Passage to India not A Room with a View
The God of Small Things not Atonement
Adrian Mole not Bridget Jones
The Beano not Dandy, Whizzer or Chips
Large print Westerns not Catherine Cookson
Any diary not The Friendship Book of Frances Gay
Ted Huges AND Sylvia Plath

WORDS

This is a great crop of words. They just sound so spacey. First came across them in A Level Geography but had forgotten them until recently.

Troposphere: the most dense part of the atmosphere; it contains 75% of all the atmosphere’s gases along with vast quantities of water and dust. The temperature is warmest at ground level but drops to –60 C higher up. All weather is in this region. It is thickest at the equator and thins out towards the poles, varying from 5 – 9 miles high. Also known as ‘the lower atmosphere’.

Tropopause: separates the troposphere from the next layer.

Stratosphere: its outer reaches extend 31 miles above the earth. It contains little water vapour and is less dense. It is calm in this layer and the movement of gases is slow. The greater the height in this layer, the greater temperature – which increases again to a maximum of about 5 C because of the absorption of uv radiation. The stratosphere contains the ozone layer.

Stratopause: where the stratosphere meets the next layer.

Mesosphere: its upper boundary is 50 miles above the ground. The gases here are too thin to absorb much heat, although the air is still thick enough to slow down meteorites. The temperature at the furthest extent of the mesosphere drops to –120 C. The mesosphere and stratosphere constitute the middle atmosphere.

Mesopause: the arbitrary division between the mesosphere and the next layer.

Thermosphere: extends to 372 miles. Temperatures increase with altitude and can reach 1,727 C. Chemical reactions are much faster here than on the surface of the earth. This layer is the upper atmosphere.

Ionosphere: part of the thermosphere. It is made of electrically charged (ionised) gas particles, which get their charge from UV rays. The ionosphere bounces radio signals transmitted from earth.

Exosphere: the outermost layer of the atmosphere which drifts off into space some 430–500 miles above the ground. Hydrogen and helium are the prime components but are present at extremely low densities.

All well and good, but I like the sound of the words more than the technical information. It’s just about possible to envisage a context in which to use them, too. Such as when the moon is full and also at (in? how does it collocate?) its perigee. Which would thereby allow you to point out the magnifying effects of the troposphere on the full and enormous moon, when the line of vision cuts through at an oblique angle. As happened last June.

Also, what about these maths terms:

A deviant frustum
A curve of pursuit

Can’t possibly imagine when these would come in. A curve of pursuit sounds like the waxing then waning energy one might put into a relationship.

SCHOOL PLACEMENT

I'm in School A and School B with the same trainee from the teacher-training course. This is a bit of a shame because she's frighteningly scatty. We've been put into the same schools for the simple reason that both schools are within easy reach of where we're living, and neither of us can drive. Incidentally, some of the spoilt rich girls (whose dads bought or gave them cars) complained about having to spend an hour each way driving to their placements. When one of them said sulkily, "Huh! Since when has driving been a disadvantage?" I could barely contain the schadenfreude I enjoyed at that moment.

The trainee I'm with is on medication for some kind of emotional difficulty... she's a sweet-natured girl but causes me to fluctuate between 'AAARRGH!' and 'awwww'. You could not ask for a more exasperating person to do a stressful course with. There's no malice at all (from either of us to the other) but nevertheless she's a challenge to be around for long periods. The medication appears to have attacked her short-term memory and causes her to miss and confuse key pieces of information, on a daily basis. She also confuses her words as though drunk or tired. She made me laugh today. On the way to a production of Macbeth I said, "I'm going to the loo first". She replied, "Yes, I could go with doing as well".

AN ODD ENCOUNTER

Browsing in Waterstones, alone, Saturday afternoon. Intending to go home afterwards but in no hurry. (Life outside London is unhurried, by comparison.) Was listening to a Roberta Flack cd on my discman. I noticed a bloke about my own age a couple of bookstands away and clocked that he was not really looking at books but looking at the other people in the store. 'Don't make eye contact, then', I thought to myself, because he did not seem a particularly intelligent, unusual or attractive type (in my eyes). I carried on reading a book I had taken off the shelf. After a while I noticed that he was edging closer to me, which made me decide that I might as well go on my way. Unfortunately, I brushed his backpack as I passed him. This was entirely accidental. We looked towards one another briefly - as a kind of acknowledgement that we'd collided - but didn't speak. Then I made my way out to the street.

I'd been outside for, well, less than a minute, when I realised he was alongside me. I could tell that he was going to start a conversation and I wasn't really relishing the prospect. For a second I wondered whether it was the same person as the man in the bookshop but then I realised it was. He knew I recognised him and so the onus was on him to explain himself. I walked fairy quickly so as not to encourage him or appear too friendly or amenable. His opening gambit:

"I saw you with your walkman on, and just wondered what you were listening to. I always want to know what people are listening to."

I thought this was fairly odd but wasn't surprised by it - expecting some kind of semi-nutty pronouncement anyway. In the circumstances, it was a reasonable opening because it was at least relevant as I still had the headphones around my neck. It didn't cross my mind to make something up so I told him, "Roberta Flack". He didn't say anything so I asked, "Do you know her?". He said confidently, "Sure. She's a black American soul singer." Now, being a bit impressionable from time-to-time (and where music is concerned), I was slightly impressed that he knew who she was. The conversation ground to a halt so I said, "I know what you mean. When I see people with HMV bags I wonder what they've bought, but I don't usually ask them!". He said, "Well, you could run a lighter under the bottom of the bag." I didn't know what he meant at all and he was aware of this, adding "To melt the bag, so the CD will fall out."

I was a bit annoyed by now that his pace hadn't slackened at all. It was obvious that he intended to try to sustain this. I can't fully recall the way the conversation went after this but I know he asked me what I did for work (my least favourite topic of conversation). I told him, to be polite, that I'm an EFL teacher (only partly true). Bad luck. He was studying for the qualification. A one-sided conversation ensued with me making terse comments and him telling me the story of his life and all the places he'd lived. Among the more startling admissions he made were "I should get married, then I'll stay in one place and won't move around anymore. That's what I'll do - stay put, when I get married." It occurred to me that this is a common 30-something dilemma but a most uncommon admission to make to a stranger on the street. He also told me - without irony - that when he did market research in America, "I could be in mid-sentence, talking to people, and they often turned around and walked off". Resolving to acquire some American brashness, I wondered how to get away. He asked me if I'd like to go for a drink with him or meet him again. I declined (politely, of course). In response to this he said, as though it were entirely normal and as though shops are social clubs, "Well, I'm in the bookshop about two nights a week, so perhaps I'll see you there?". In a non-committal, unenthusiastic tone, I told him I'd look out for him if I went in again.

As I went home, it occurred to me that he must have read something - maybe in Time Out - about bookshiops being a good place to meet educated single people. He was perfectly harmless and probably a nice guy but I went away feeling mildly depressed and sad about his clumsy, overly direct approach to befriending people.

BAD DREAM

I'm walking on the beach, close to the shoreline. Suddenly I become aware of a draught and I can hear a low roar. I look out to sea and there is a vast wave coming in. It hasn't begun to topple over yet and I realise it will only do so as it gets to the beach - not before. It is huge and sinister - a vast, powerful angry malevolent wall of a wave (it's distorted though - in 'real life' - even the most awesome tidal wave would not be like this).

I realise I'm done for. There seems no point in running - it's too close and about to topple and break at any second. I can't bear to look so I turn away from the horizon and look to the cliffs. I stand with my knees slightly bent; my elbows are also bent, so that my hands are behind my head at the top of my neck, holding my head. It's the 'brace' position you are told to assume in the event of an aeroplane crash-landing. I'm waiting for the noise to become deafening and the weight of water to come crashing down on my head. There's an awful inevitability about it and I know I won't survive. After a couple of minutes I wonder why it's taking so long. When I turn around to look, the wave has gone.

GREEN WOODPECKER

I saw one today, while walking through a field on the edge of some woods. I didn't know what it was until I got home and looked it up. It must have heard us coming because it darted out of a tree and flew away. This was at a distance, and I only saw it from behind. Which was startling, because a rear view of a green woodpecker means a very large bird with a shocking bright yellow rump. I'd thought it would be as green underneath as it is on top - not so!

TRANSFERENCE

A perfect (waking) example of this. I was paying for something by switch. The checkout person put my card in a machine, which generated some paper till roll. He handed me a pen with which to sign my name and complete the transaction.

I began to write my four-digit chip-and-pin number on the signature line. I formed the first stroke of the first number, realised my error, then blended it into my signature.

That's a good example of blurring the boundaries of things, mixing metaphors, in a way. It happens all the time at varying subconsious and conscious levels - transposing the attributes of one mechanism or process or entity onto another. As my anecdote shows, this activity need not be confined to slips of the tongue or to dreams.

A Tale of Lunacy

So, it was about 4.00pm and I was cyling along the towpath to get the post office. To my right was the canal/river (never quite sure which, there's a conglomeration of waterways where I'm living), made inaccessible by a three-foot wire-mesh railing. To my left were some not-great flats and a narrow cutting leading to a small estate of housing association flats and an old people's home.

At the bottom of this cutting, a medium-sized aggressive dog was snarling, barking and 'worrying' an Asian male in his mid-to-late 20s. The dog had its hackles up and kept running forward at the man, as if about to attack or jump up at him. The dog was entirely focused on this unfortunate man and was devoting all its energies to barking and growling at him. I think the dog was a boxer dog. It was one of those ugly, solid, muscular dogs, about mid-calf height. As I approached this scene I slowed down slightly to see what was happening. The man was desperate to be rescued from the situation and said to me with endearing optimism, "Is it your dog?". I replied that I was afraid not. At this point I made a fatal error - stopped to talk to him.

As the dog was evidently not going to let this man proceed any further along the towpath, the man was stuck. The dog would not let him walk past. I suggested he throw something for the dog to distract it and send it off in another direction. The only problem was, we were next to a river, not in a park. Sticks and balls were in short supply.

Since I've never had a dog in the family home and know nothing about them, it was entirely foolish to slow down and help this bloke out. I felt so sorry for him, though, I couldn't whizz past and leave him to it (well, I suppose I could have...).

Anyway, my lack of expertise was a great boon for this man, because the dog swiftly transferred all its aggression to me and seemed to lose interest in the other man, who slipped away. Cheers, pal! The dog was running around the front of the bike, barking, and jumping up at my legs. I had no idea about the best thing to do. I considered it for a minute and then, without warning, slipped into a low gear and sped off like a bullet, moving rapidly down the gears. The dog seemed to think this was a great game and ran next to me, barking and snarling all the while. Hmmm.... What to do?

I decided to take a hair-pin bend and join the main road, willing the dog to follow me and run into the path of the heavy, fast-moving traffic. That would have been a satisfying conclusion to the game. Alas, the dog gave up the chase.

Moral of the story: helping people only works in controlled situations. Also, don't get involved with angry dogs.

A New Dawn, A New Day

The poem brings to mind an extremely large room I once rented on the first floor of an unconverted, unmodernised 19th-century terrace. My room was heated by a gas fire too feeble to warm the far side of the room. It was the most unusual place, and probably wouldn't exist outside London. The ceiling height can't have been much less than 18 feet, and I had to climb a ladder to get into bed. It had beautiful, dusty, cornicing and an elaborate centre rose. The length of the light fitting's cord was far too long and it had to be looped and coiled around the ceiling in a series of Heath-Robinsonesque fixtures, so as not to trail on the ground. There were a couple of pieces of heavy, substantial-looking polished wood furniture - one of which was a dresser, where two porcelian roses stood in a slender vase. They were there when I arrived and I often admired them. In a more modern room or building they would have been out of place, or kitsch. But they were perfect there, where someone else had left them. I couldn't imagine a better place for them. The windows rattled in their frames in this room, too, but the most striking thing was the London Underground which ran directly beneath the building. I was initially baffled to feel the tremblings of the northern line every couple of minutes. At midnight! I'd had no idea it ran so frequently, so late. Of course, the vibrations were from both north- and southbound trains. A metropolitan ambience permeated this room, in one way and another. In addition to the tube rattling the foundations, a pair of pigeons were nesting in one of the window boxes. It was a plastic, terracota-effect window box, about waist height as you stood inside the room. It wasn't Spring yet, and a pair of pigeons were making valiant attempts to hatch their young. They would fly away to a lamppost across the road whenever I approached that end of the room, then back again. I couldn't stand seeing them for more than a couple of weeks, though, after which time I had to ask the landlord to remove the windowbox which contained nothing but earth and a solitary white pigeon egg.
Here's the poem, which now always makes me think about that curious, richly atmospheric room (in spite of the fact I was there alone during my short tenancy).

From Trilogy for X

And love hung still as crystal over the bed
And filled the corners of the enormous room;
The boom of dawn that left her sleeping, showing
The flowers mirrored in the mahogany table.

O my love, if only I were able
To protract this hour of quiet after passion,
Not ration happiness but keep this door for ever
Closed on the world, its own world closed within it.

But dawn's waves trouble with the bubbling minute,
The names of books come clear upon their shelves,
The reason delves for duty and you will wake
With a start and go on living on your own.

The first train passes and the windows groan,
Voices will hector and your voice become
A drum in tune with theirs, which all last night
Like sap that fingered through a hungry tree
Asserted our one night's identity.