91. Working from the workplace

The fences and lengths of red and white tape which made the place look like a crime scene have gone. Back to the boring grey yard. I walk towards the main building, head down, crying over the spilt milk of lockdown. My leaven for the sour bread at long last prepared is sitting at home, alone. I should be there to look after it. Check its temperature. Check it does get enough light but not too much. I have got this urge of turning back and heading home to see how it is doing. 

'I'm really sorry. I had forgotten to check the temperature of my leaven so I had to pop home.'

'Oh! And how is he now?'

' ... Sorry? ... '

'How is he now? Leevan, your son! How is he doing?'

'Oh ... erm ... he's better. Thanks for asking.'

Better not go down that road. So I plod on. I get into the building and ... oh the joy! The arrows are still there! The colourful arrows I skipped along in June are still there. This cheers me up so much I forget about the leaven. I am a bit disappointed to see that there are still showing the same path ... not fair! They could have changed the routes a bit to add to the excitement of 'la rentrée'! Never mind, I'm not complaining, I am glad they are still there and as colourful as ever. So, head bent right down, I follow the straight lines and the right angle turns and all the twists and bends. My favourite is the one at the top of the stairs indicating not one, not two, but three possible directions. And the choice is mine! A few yards down the corridor I get pushed and shoved at one tricky busy corner. And that's when I realise ... I am the only one following the arrows! Everybody is completely ignoring them! I want to scream and shout: 'Hey! Everyone! Can you pay attention to the arrows, please? Follow them. You will discover the gardens, some hidden doors and stairways, even an abandoned rose garden! Have some fun! Don't be so boring!'

I find out later that something had been said about not having to follow the arrows anymore during that first meeting ... It must have been while I was washing my hands.

I get annoyed. Remove the stickers then! And give them to me. Let me put in place a one way system in our house to help my kids get the idea of proper discipline. Should I come back tonight and peel them off myself?

I was almost happy. I was thinking that the school would be a different school. If they can do it in the tube in London with millions of passengers, why can't they do it here with 1,000? We are back into the old ways of pushing and shoving each over. But very strangely no-one cares. No-one seems to be botherered if you are shoulder to shoulder or if you bump heavily into them at the traffic jam where the corridors meet (and no-one is following the arrows).  The armour, I think. We are now wearing a new type of armour, this bit of cloth or plastic covering two thirds of our faces. This armour is less clanky and less heavy than the ones gathering (even more now) dust in castles and its gauntlets are made of a clear invisible potion. This is progress. This is the modern and civilised world. So off we go, happy to be invincible. So I ignore the arrows too, sadly reminiscing the month of June and the crazy detours through the gardens. I will insist though and go through the sports grounds towards the exit. Except it is now locked and I have to walk back the long way around.

As I leave the building like a mad woman seeing the prison door ajar, I go past the smoking area (Don't ask, readers from outside France, please do not ask). Yes, we do have a smoking area for teenagers inside the school. (To protect them from terrorism.) Here large white dots have been painted on the ground. I thought that they were going to put huge potted plants here and the spots were to make sure they were delivered in the exact right spot. I was imagining a green lush forest of palms. ... No: one spot, one smoker. And believe me, there are teenagers here, all obediently (since when are youths obedient?) standing on the spot! The sight is so surreal I laugh out loud under my mask (I don't smoke) but then I want to cry.