For me, the past cannot remain in the past. Through diary entries, letters, and photographs, it seeps into the present (Diary, May 24, 2017).
7.00 am: A communion. I returned to Parc Natur Penglais after too long an absence. The first light appeared as though polarised. It’s a quality of illumination that I associate with the onset of an eclipse. I had few words to say, today. Words were at one and the same time too precise and clumsy. ‘Be still my soul.’
8.15 am: I caught-up with the overnight emails and, then, prepared for a day (more or less) of group moderation of all the undergraduate and postgraduate exhibition modules involving all fine art staff, reviewed a PhD submission, and dispatched correspondence related to my moderation of art history modules. During this last week of mark preparation, the heat was on. (As, indeed, it was outside too.) 9.30 am: The annual, now virtual, ‘Walkabout’ began:
The discussions that we have as staff as we confirm one another’s double-marking and the relative parity of class and percentage marks across the disciplines, is rich. I learn so much, always. The External Examiner will confirm our marking at the Final Board Meeting. I cannot conceive of a system of assessment that is fairer and more rigorous. 2.00 pm: We proceeded from undergraduate to postgraduate scrutiny. This was hard work, but entirely rewarding. 4.00 pm: I tripped over to the School to see how my PhD tutee was fairing with the installation of their doctoral exhibition, and to mull-over a sound-amplification problem that they’d encountered. 7.30 pm: Back to the posts; I could endure no more assessing.
Wednesday, June 2. 7.00 pm: I put in one and a half hours on adjusting the text before heading for town to have my haircut and undertake domestic duties. 8.30 am: I went early in order to incorporate my daily. After my ‘snip’, I picked up prescriptions:
9.30 pm: I pulled-in at the School to solve my PhD students sound problems. Fixed in 15-minutes flat; another ‘snip’. 10.15 am: Back at my desk. Moderation having been completed, the admin began. One only needs half-a-brain to do this bit. With the other half, I listened to YouTube vlogs on religious trauma. Over the years, I’ve come across a number of folk who’ve been traumatised by overbearing church leaders, congregational pressures to conform to particular ways of behaving and thinking, intrusive censoriousness, frightening theologies, and various modes of coercion and control — be that either sexual, or financial, or by threatening punitive action and ostracization. The experiences lead some to leave the church, and others to also abandon their religion altogether. The weather is turning. Before the rain came:
2.00 pm: I dived into the annual PhD research monitoring regime. Having subjected myself and my students to this for so many years, I’ve realised that I cannot either enjoy or fully believe in the task. But I essay it with the best of my ability. I dipped in and out of dairy-post revision mode as I did so.
7.30 pm: ‘Catch-up’ is undoubtedly the phrase most often repeated in the diaries over the passed seven years. One day, I shall utter the words ‘caught-up’. So many projects came to nought, most because a collaborator pulled out. Others I switched off, because I could see the end from the beginning. But, as I remind myself throughout the diary: Nothing is ever wasted’.
Signs of the times:
