Wednesday, May 17

 

 

Today I start finding next year’s students and Irma drives to Pellinki for Marita’s funeral.

I got up at 7:00, skipped breakfast, and got to Arcada just before 8:00. The promised sandwiches failed to arrive.

My task for most of the day consisted of supervising one student who had registered as dyslexic. In the morning she had four hours to do the essay that everyone did in three hours. I set up a small room that Monica had booked and then went downstairs to find her. We went back up to E381 and, at exactly 8:30, she started work. I had my laptop with me and worked through a list of tasks I had carefully compiled yesterday.

During the morning I announced the Pixelache Space Program, offered support to Rob Fisher for his new venture Progressive Connexions and sundry other actions.

She didn’t need all her allotted time and we broke for lunch at 12:30. I had a sandwich while working through a load of stuff involving theses, project reports, meetings about missing project reports, and emergency Plan B assignments for people who had failed to finish courses.

I spent the first half of the afternoon supervising the same applicant, as she wrote a reflection on her pre-assignment. I spent the second half of the afternoon working with Jutta on preparing for the interviews tomorrow. She sat downstairs with the others, putting all the scores into a single spreadsheet and then compiling final scores, while I created a template for the interviews, compiled a timetable, and made scoresheets with the candidates’ photographs on for easy reference.

We finally had it all set up at 18:10 and I raced out of the building, ran like hell, and leapt onto a 71 bus.

I have arived at Stoa at 18:52 and met Irma and Naa, who chat with Sanna. I have not seen her for years. I check my coat in and notice the cows in the foyer. Either they have moved or more cows live here than I thought.

We will watch Blind Gut Company from the second row of a completely full house. The group, two women and one man, will perform Machine, an hour or so of physical theatre, using acrobatic skills to tell an abstract narrative. Part of it will remind me of aspects of Keele Performance Group, and I will find myself thinking briefly about Pete Sykes’ untimely death. The company make great use of sound and lights, triggered by the performers’ feet and bodies. At times every step on the tightrope triggers a beat that meshes with the amplified heartbeat of the woman walking the rope.

Afterwards we will take Naa home and then retune our television, because today the channels change wavelengths. Everything will work perfectly after the tuning but when Irma switches the television back on to watch the 22:00 News the television will show nothing.

A kerfuffle will ensue.