via The Subtext…
As always, Sunday morning has arrived.
I say ‘as always’ as if it’s given fact, but one day, one week, playing at a theatre near you, forever, it won’t arrive.
I woke up this morning which means that Sunday has arrived. It was warmer outside and there was a sun shining vaguely through the morning grey. I woke up, I shuck up, and I went to make the ceremonial tea.
After that, I made my announcement:
“Today, and from this Sunday on, we will be going out for a run.”
What I meant by that was not thet we would be running everyday, but that when Sundays came to find us huddled tightly in our duvets, hiding from the promise of another week, we would rise from out slumber and jog politely into the new dawn.
“Is it cold outside?”
This was the significant other asking me a meteorological question and as I had just been outside, in the car, putting air into a dodgy back tyre, and washing off the winter muck for the first time in two months, one would assume that I knew the answer.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“But you’ve just been outside.”
“I know, but I was doing other things beside observing the weather patterns of East Yorkshire.”
I may have well have been asleep for all the notice I took of the outside world. This sometimes happens to me. Indeed, I think it happens to a lot of us without us realising.
To prove this hypothesis:
Key Question: Have you ever travelled some distance in your car, arrived at your destination and then forgotten large chunks of that journey?
Key Answer: I think it is YES.
So, I had been outside performing a range of vehicular tasks whilst also buying a particularly healthy soya and linseed loaf of bread. This goes great with the right cheese when toasted. As I was putting air in the offendingly-deflated tyre, I noticed a five pence piece, yet I did not pick it up. Perhaps I am richer that I think I am. I drove to the carwash and had a medium wash that did not entail being coated in a triple-wax treatment. My reasoning was that some of the winter was still hanging about meaning that the car would get dirty before long. Wait for the spring and then clean properly.
Having left the car wash, I returned to the house, parked the ageing but now shiny car, admired it, stood back and admired it again, encountered a nebulous half-thought that did the mind-coaching crap that I hate ‘this day is the beginning of the rest of your life’ – fingers in metaphorical throat, and went indoors.
“Is it cold outside?” The question I had not revised any answer to.
“I’ll just check.”
Surprisingly, it was a wee bit chilly and that mitigated the wearing of warmer gear and gloves. On this point, I have to say that I find gloves just as annoying as socks when it comes to being found. I have lots of pairs of gloves, but they obviously have lots of hiding places. Eventually, I found some wooly gloves. Although not ideal for sporting enterprises, they kept my hands warm and it was still sufficiently early to avoid the gaze of the athletically enhanced fashion Fascists.
“Hey folks. If you have been reading this blog.”
Two very misleading statements that I abhor as they tend to assume that the human-race has little better to do with its time here on earth but to read the ravings of a half-baked half-wit rather than battling “against the dying of the light”.
Anyway, I like a run. Unfortunately, I don’t like winter. Most mornings during late November, all December, all January, and most of February, will find me at the mouth a of hollow in our back garden, gazing into the underworld whilst cooing Persephone back from the bowels.
This morning, she was clear of the bowels (Persephone not the missus) and we were on our run.
For a number of years I have counted to twenty when I run. It keeps a constant pace, takes my mind off the strain, and puts me in the moment (zone for us sporty types). My winter lay-offs always take their toll so it takes me some time to return to that Mars-like man that I always dreamt of being. I also like to have a chat with the wife as we run. I tend to say things such as, “This is great, isn’t it?” and she ignores me. I have a greater appreciation of wildlife and the environment at these moments, but refrain from sharing too much until we get closer to home.
It was a good run this morning and I was pleased that the days are starting to get warmer. I was able to shrug off my shroud, ignore my bad knee (something I have not had to endure before), and just be.
No zombies, no end of the world, no big deal.
Just the moments, those little moments that make sense of it all.
Way back in the day when the gatekeepers kept the gates closed to so many of us, allowing only a privileged few through the hallowed portals, knowledge was certainly power.
Exams started with the Eleven-Plus and funnelled the sections of the school population into three distinct areas: Grammar; Technical; and Secondary Modern educational models. From there on in, there was a relatively trouble-free route into ‘O’ Levels; Vocational Qualifications; or CSEs. On top of that, you could progress to gain absolutely nothing as those were the days when one’s personal aptitude and indifference would be respected. Back in the day, you were allowed to fail if you merited it.
Some of the main skills required for passing examinations were aptitude, natural talent, hard work, and memorisation. The latter was a godsend for those who wished to wend their way into the wonderland of a university education. And let’s not forget the teachers. A bright and knowledgeable teacher, who could engage with young people, was the most excellent of escape-routes, unless said teacher was predisposed to that most dreaded of ideologues, ‘the love of learning for its own sake’.
We were up at Durham this week with our middle daughter who has received a rather good offer to study Archaeology. I had never been to Durham before, so it was all new to me. I knew that Durham was one of the best universities in the country and I was happy that our middle daughter had the chance to study there. It was a well-needed tonic and an ‘away-day’ from her issues with self-esteem.
Now that it has become a real possibility, she is going to have to work and work in order to polish her skills at passing examinations…extremely well. You see, there is a point when knowledge alone counts for nothing. At crucial times, it’s about demonstrating what you know and applying it to certain questions. After you have done well in A Levels, you can forget what you have learnt so that you can learn some more. There’s only so much one can be expected to regurgitate at any one time.
And yet what impressed us about Durham University was its standing as a pre-eminent gate-keeper. Saint Bede’s remains are there in the Cathedral. Eminent scholars fill the lists of alumni. The doors opened to those who were willing to go that extra mile and would then lead onto doors that led to endless possibilities. They were gates that my wife and I had never passed through, but our children are now doing so. Yet there was something else that Durham had that was unquantifiable; it was the ‘love of learning’. And what best exemplified that was the study of Archaeology; the study of the past for the sake of discovery, for the sake of learning something new.
So the question that this all gives rise to is whether or not education and knowledge should be in need of an end-product. My response is, yes. We learn to make sense of the world around us. We learn to move forward. We do learn from our mistakes as much as we learn from our successes. It has to be applied.
Nevertheless when explorers risked their lives to chart a new ocean or continent or planet, are they doing so to provide valuable information that can be used by later generations or are they lost in the moment of discovery, of being the first one there, of leaving a footprint or fingerprint on something that was previously pristine and unimagined?
From The Telegraph Friday 16th February 2018. By Allan Massie
Professor Andrew Hamilton, the vice-chancellor of Oxford University, has spoken up in defence of “apparently useless” study. He points to research done by the university’s Department of Earth Sciences estimating the body masses of 426 species of dinosaurs. They concluded that those with the lowest body mass had the best chance of survival. Accordingly, those did survive and became birds. “Now,” he said, “unless you are a budgerigar wishing to trace your family tree, that information is of precisely zero value. But it’s brilliant research, and somehow I feel better just for knowing it.”
As Aristotle knew, a hunger for knowledge is a hunger for life.
And sometimes life can be enjoyable…
The cat sat on the mat.
The mat was by the door.
It was cold outside and there was a draft blowing through the loose-fitting door. The cat slept or pretended to sleep. A vacuum cleaner whirred from some place upstairs.
The cat slept or pretended to sleep. A washing machine slowly turned through its cycles. Its churning indifference replaced the urgency of the vacuum cleaner which was now silent. The woman upstairs moved from room to room collecting this and that which needed to be collected and then needed to be thrown out. She huffed at things that had collected themselves over the winter months and made sharp references as to what would happen in the future. The washing machine began to wake to another cycle and this time its effort increased.
The cat sat on the mat, but was not asleep.
The man sat at his writing desk and tried to write. It was cold outside, but the sun was shining. He liked the sun and hated the cold. He listened to the increasing speed of the washing machine and was thankful that the vacuum cleaner had stopped its busy cleansing. He looked around for the cat that should have been sleeping, but found that there was no mat at the door. No mat meant no cat.
The washing machine spun for take-off. Any moment now they would all be leaving the ground and heading off into the clouds that had already been hushed into vapours on this cold, cold day.