I don’t know if you can hear me…

I seem to be starting all my emails, texts and messages with “Well, this is weird, isn’t it?”

All the weirder for the fact that the sun’s out, our pond is stirring into life and signs of Spring are peeping coyly over the skyline. I’ve spent the morning in the garden, talking over the fence to neighbours (at a safe distance…), watching newts lolling about in the duckweed and generally feeling like I’m on holiday.

An extraordinary holiday, for sure, and one that scoffs unwisely at the probability that we’re most likely on the brink of something truly terrible. My heart goes out to all my friends who have relatives in Italy and Spain… Truly, we’re living through history.

You might be imagining that as a teacher, right now I’ve been lounging around all week in a smoking jacket, flicking playing cards into a top hat. But you see that’s just where you’d be wrong (this afternoon excepted…). As a freelancer, there’s all sorts of readjusting and rearranging I’ve been sorting through this week, not the least of which is the knotty business of learning how to use various video-conferencing apps and remote classroom tools (a problem that becomes near-Gordian when you have to explain it all to non-English speakers from your vantage point of a whole 2 days mastery…).

So pretty much like many other people, I guess (minus the Polish and Fula obviously)

There has, of course, been a constant soundtrack to all this, and the more I listen, the more apposite it seems…

 

My generation’s Byrds, they were.

A perfect song on an absolutely perfect album, that one day will be officially inducted onto The List.

(And somehow all the more perfect for being in front of a bunch of quizzical Australian kids…)

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