Episode 10: Back to (the other) school

As you may have guessed, I did make it to the language school after all that and the result is that I no longer have any problems when speaking to Spanish people. I just ignore them as I find life is much easier that way. 


Following on from the tales of derring-do in the last blog, José and I went back to the Escuela Oficiál de Idiomas (EOI.........I´m still not writing it out in full time after time!) the following week and registered for my Spanish course and this time we were successful. The thing is, we weren´t actually allowed to register until the Monday morning after the last visit I previously mentioned, but that was the day the course started. Consequently, we were there at 10am for the registration just as the very first class was starting upstairs. Only in Spain!! Unbeaten, we took another ticket from the ex-patisserie machine, but this time we had it totally sussed. We took books, iPads and a sleeping bag - well you can never be too sure - and settled down in the cafeteria. That said, I think the secretariat had finally got the hang of this registration lark, because they were much quicker and we were seen within the hour. I was a little disappointed as I only got 10 rows into knitting a fairisle cardigan for the winter months when I had to move, but so be it. I may freeze to death in the unforgiving cold weather here, but at least I'll be able to repent in Spanish to the local Catholic priest on my deathbed......although he may have to take a couple of days out to get through it all!

Forgive me Father for I have sinned. A lot. Possibly even more than you!!!

The next day I went to the lesson and met my fellow classmates. They seemed nice enough and were a real mixed bag of nationalities. With the monumental cock-up on the registration front, it meant that people were straggling into the lesson every 10 minutes or so as more and more people were processed. Still, I learned everyone's names, because each time someone new came in, we went around the room and introduced ourselves in Spanish. By the tenth time it was becoming a little wearing, but I didn't think that "Oh for f**ks sake my name is Bernard" was quite appropriate from the (now departed) French guy in the room. I think the teacher was impressed he could say all that in Spanish and moved him up to the Intermediate group.

Sparks flew when I met Graciela

On the first day of the class, I was informed that there were only 4 people in the lesson. By the end of play on the second day there were about 10 of us. The third day saw more, then more on the fourth and by the end of week 2, we were up to 27 people in the class. Something tells me that this school needs to get its act together. Most of you know my OCD traits and won´t be surprised to know that I tried to break into the secretariat´s office one night in order to sort out their filing system and web registration system, but was thwarted by a guard. Well I say guard, she was a rather fierce looking welder from Barcelona who was brought in to look after the place out of hours, as they suspected someone would try this. There was a small scuffle and she gave me a nasty bite, but was immediately sorry about it and is coming to fix the iron railings on the outside of the flat for free as compensation.

Ángel, as I believe he
would have looked in 1971, if
he were related to the
Yorkshire Ripper

Our teacher is called Ángel and appears to be an old hippy from the 70´s. He has long shoulder length wavy hair, which makes it difficult for me to concentrate. At times, I find myself drifting off into a L'Oreál daydream, wondering if he's worth it and what it must be like to wash that much hair. When we talked hobbies and he shared that he went swimming most afternoons, I worried for days about how he would keep it conditioned.


There is one Commonwealth corner of the classroom (or Aula - nearly forgot this weeks lesson!!) with English, Scottish and Australian members. We have planted a small flag and naturally believe ourselves to be the most important members of the room. We once had an Empire, what-ho! We don't let Ángel ask us questions unless he submits them to us first in writing several days before the lesson.


We´ve lost one person in the class though and, as they've now gone, I feel able to share a little something with you, dear listeners. I don´t want to be rude about them, so let´s just call them dum-dum. The phrase "thicker than Katie Price's breast implants" comes to mind. I don't want to talk badly of someone, I really don't, but you know me; I'm going to. To give you an example, the questions would be like this.........

Ángel: ¿Person 1, De dónde eres? (Where are you from?) ..........By way of explanation, Spaniards  put these upside down question marks in front of a question and then a proper one at the end. I don´t know whether I will ever truly respect these people for that!! Anyway, on with the answer to the question.....
Person 1: Soy de Irlanda (I am from Ireland)
Ángel: ¿Person 2, De dónde eres? 
Person 2: Soy de Brasil (I am from Brazil)
Ángel: ¿Person 3, De dónde eres? 
Person 3: Soy de Portugal (I am from, well, you get it!)
Ángel: ¿Dum-Dum, De dónde eres? 
DumDum: (turning to the person next to them) What's he asking???


Sometimes he would go all round the room and ask 15 - 20 other people before them, but the response would always be the same...........(turning to the person next to them) What's he asking??? Last week, they came to a lesson and said they didn´t think they would be coming back as they were learning more at home. You couldn´t make this stuff up!!


Classes always thin out and we´re down to about 24, although this number fluctuates day by day. I can´t get over how free and easy it is, being an adult learner. My last experience of a classroom was when I did my degree in 1995/6 and it was very similar to being at high school. Ask permission for this. Request time out for that. Shut up, sit down and listen at all times. Here, as an adult learner, things are much more relaxed. The Germans talk all the bloody time, the Chinese swap recipes for crispy fried octopus and the eastern europeans have started a card school. I sit with four lovely girls though, Beckie, Alice, Belinda and Sanna, although Sanna is leaving in December to continue her travels and I´m going to miss her. (Now there was a tender moment you weren´t expecting). Despite myself though, I am learning.


And then there´s the other school. Our school. The New School of English. Catchy title huh?? We couldn´t think of what to call it and considered several options:

• The English School
• English the easy way
• The Mark Fell Academy for speaking English Proper

In the end, I think we made the right choice!

Posh, huh??

We took a little time to find the right premises but in the end we struck lucky with a place on Juan Flórez, which is a rather posh street in town and is surrounded by people with money. I like being surrounded by people with money, although I would rather they give it to me outright without me actually having to work for it. There's a considerable flaw in that process somewhere. Before we found this place, we saw some dives and I was going to attach a picture of the bathroom in one of the places we saw which was filthy, but it still makes me dry heave. It had also been a language school before we looked at it, but I think several of the students held a dirty process just before it closed. I was so appalled, that I took one of the hundreds of school books they had lying around by way of compensation. Shocked???!?! You shouldn't be. I was having severe withdrawals from the NHS stationery cupboard, so I needed to fulfil my thieving desires somewhere.

Here in Spain, the meatballs come with something
called patatas fritas, but they taste the
same as chips, so that's okay

We needed to put some furniture in the school and try as we might, we attempted to avoid Ikea, but it was impossible. Don't get me wrong, I like Ikea, but so much stuff these days is self assembly and I wanted something a little more elaborate. The problem with elaborate is that it costs loads of money, so Ikea it was. I've never eaten so many bloody meatballs in my life! Just for the uninitiated amongst you, it is the law that when one goes to Ikea, one has the meatballs. I once made the statement to someone here that if I went to Ikea any more times that week, I would soon look like a meatball! The response? What do you mean soon?

So, the school got kitted out, our own stationery was ordered and we opened for business on 24th October. The first day was a little quiet and so on the second day, we decided to advertise it as an English language school with paddling pool. It had rained heavily during the night and the newly painted ceiling had leaked an entire bucket of water through the light fitting. It's still leaking and as I sit in reception, the soundtrack to my day is the constant dripping of water into a plastic Ikea waste paper basket.

Hands up, who sniggered when I said I was on reception? The school consists of two members of staff. The lovely José and me. Seeing as I barely speak English correctly, he does the teaching and I sit on reception. I've had to learn so many new skills, but now I can confidently say that I can now file my nails and read emails at the same time; I've taken to going out for coffee on the hour, every hour and I've learned how to say "bugger off I'm busy" in Spanish. It's no fun nicking out of my own stationery cupboard though; the frisson has gone.