I mentioned in my News section
the shock of discovering my backlog in reading that I started
to tackle yesterday. Now I am a teacher who, despite first impressions, likes to keep on
top of things. I like to know what's going on in the world around me, especially with regards
to education. If that means ploughing through the job sections of the educational supplements on a
weekly basis to discover patterns in vacancies, then I am that martyr. The one who struggles home with
a back-breaking quantity of newspaper, with the girl in the newsagents watching me go with
suspicion, convinced that I've actually tried smuggling twenty copies of Heat
magazine amongst the acreage of paper. Okay, there is the alternative motive that I'm looking
for a new job, but let's stick with the main point here.
By the time I've thrown down my schoolbag in the corner of my study and flumped into the first chair I spot on a Friday evening after school, the urge to read about the latest educational debates and initiatives starts to wane in the light of discovering Coronation Street is about to start, and so the heavyweight (in every sense of the word) papers get scooped up into the magazine rack, for when I have the spare half hour later that week when my mental faculties can cope with digesting what's relevant to me.
And then suddenly it's the following week. I look at what I've just dragged home from the newsagents, almost in surprise. Another newspaper. Not only do I have last week's Times Educational Supplement, with its own myriad supplements, still waiting to be sifted through, but also the Education Guardian which appeared on Tuesday. And so it goes on.
I must admit I didn't realise the extent of my own paper hoarding until yesterday, at around
teatime. I'd set aside the day for research. Others might look on enviously and comment
that it actually just looked like I was sitting on my arse for the whole day in the garden
flicking through the papers, but I will still maintain that this constitutes research. I
had the pile of papers beside me, and started out most conscientiously, at about 10am. After
all, it is the holidays, and I didn't want to overdo things, and besides, the sun doesn't
reach the garden until about then.
At first, I took my time reading each issue, and its supplements, and its supplements within supplements that kept appearing like never-ending Russian dolls, nesting within each sheaf of paper. I mulled over the debates, read articles about subjects I don't even teach just to see if there was anything I could glean from it, and carefully separated sections from the staples when I found something useful worth keeping.
I began to get a little annoyed with myself though. Reading seemed like such a passive
process after spending the first two weeks of the holiday in an active whirl that there
didn't seem to be much outcome from this activity. I began to flick through each paper more
quickly, feeling glee when I saw the recycling pile grow, and skimming articles with less
care. As I got towards the bottom of the pile of papers, stretching back to May, paper was
flying everywhere, and my hands were no longer my own but seemed to have been borrowed from
Edward Scissorhands, so deftly were useful bits of paper being pruned out from the sheets
flying everywhere.
With a sigh, I decided that now was the time to do something more active, like a bit of housework, and so I began to tidy up a corner of my study in preparation for a rampant dusting and vacuuming. My heart sunk as I spotted that what I thought was a pile of holiday brochures turned out to be one brochure covering a pile of newspapers. What cruel trick was this! I must have emptied out the magazine rack when it started to overflow, and stacked the papers elsewhere for safe keeping, so that the rack was ready to receive more unread papers. And it was with a heavy heart that I lugged out the papers, only glancing briefly at the date on one, which was March. Almost half a year ago!
Now the reasonable, sane side of me is screaming to throw them out - what possible use can papers that old possibly be; isn't the clue in the name: newspapers? After all, with the Sunday papers I can relinquish them when the new batch arrives. But sanity has not yet won the day, and I know that today's task, to be approached with much less enthusiasm than it was 24 hours ago, will be to scan each piece of print until my hands are ink-black weapons with which to smear the paintwork that still needs cleaning... After all, one of those papers might contain a valuable resource or nugget of information that I haven't yet heard, and will be lost to the recycling bin forever if I don't endeavour with my madness. Just picture me, a tragic figure of Lady Macbeth proportions, ringing my inky hands to get rid of the damned spots.
added 3/8/04
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