Episode 25: Flying the coop

Hello - remember me? What can I say??? It's been a whole five weeks since I last published a blog on here and to be honest, some days I totally forgot that this page existed. Then I remembered you, my public, out there in the dark and so here I am. There is, of course, a good reason for my tardiness - I just couldn't be arsed to write! No, bless you, that's not the case. As if! I shall endeavour to explain.............

Dolores, or Diego as he's known from
Monday to Friday, runs a naked knitting
group here in Spain on Saturday evenings

There are moments in one's life that are memorable for all sorts of reasons: your first true love, your first taste of alcohol, your first pay packet, the first time you wear ladies underwear and call yourself Dolores. Well, at the tender ages of 48 and 49 (I'm naturally the younger of the two of us), José and I are finally breaking the shackles of the family home and moving out into the big wide world on our own. We had planned to do this in our twenties, but his mother wouldn't let us! In all seriousness (and this is about as serious as it gets), we were planning to do this a little later in the year, but circumstances have forced us to do it sooner than expected. It's nothing sinister you understand, but I won't bore you with the details other than to say that it's basically to do with the business and my in-laws not losing their pension by us all living under the same roof. See, I told you it was a boring reason; I can hear you all yawning now. Stay tuned gentle reader, for there are tales of sex and intrigue afoot.


So, we went searching for flats and that was more difficult than expected. Some of the flats on the internet that we liked and were in our price bracket were also in the price bracket of 2000 other people, some of whom I wouldn't cross the road to smack. After a plethora of emails flying backwards and forward to various estate agencies (or Inmobiliarias, as they inexplicably call them round these 'ere parts), we received results equivalent to the amount of firing neurones in my head; ie none! Squatting entered our heads for one brief moment and we did see a place that would have looked rather lovely with its front window punched out and a manky old sofa from the landfill placed under the dado, but we decided that after one brief run-in with the local police, we wouldn't chance that one again. Well, I say run-in, I gave one officer the glad eye and sent a drink over, but I don't think I was his type. I was so embarrassed! I won't be going back to that Mormon church again; not even for the full John Travolta Massage Experience they were advertising.

So, we settled on going to see someone in one of these Inmobiliarias and actually paying some rent and several weeks ago, found ourselves in the back of a rather swishy Mercedes, being driven to look at several places. 

This is not the same paper
clip that I had in my pocket, but
it was a red one and is available
to see, should anyone not
believe me.

The first one was an attic flat. Two bedrooms, en-suite, small lounge, small kitchen, small second bathroom, small second bedroom and small cleaning lady once a week (although she doesn't do toilets!) It was small, with not enough space to swing my rather ample hips, let alone a recently deceased member of the feline family. We looked around the place and decided that the owner and his reasonably large-chested girlfriend were not strict Catholics, owing to the large packet of condoms that were opened on the bedside table and delicately strewn across as if to announce to all and sundry, "Look at us, we have regular sex". I had a paper clip in my pocket and the urge to punch a hole in one was so strong, but I resisted, although only because he never took his eyes of us when we were in the bedroom and I had no opportunity.

The wonders of modern medicine

The second place was nice, but at the top of the Galician equivalent of an Alp. Some of you may have realised that I'm not the most energetic of people and consider regular gym attendance to be once a year on New Years Day. What felt like sixteen flights of stairs later and with no lift in the building, we found ourselves in a rather nice little flat with a big kitchen and a view of the local roundabout - and I'm not talking about the ones that little children go round and round on either, which in turn would make me sound like a paedophile. It wasn't that pretty, but at least the journey out of there was much easier than the journey in. With excuses of "our parents are elderly and knackered and would never get up here without an iron lung", we left and went onto the next place.

I couldn't find a picture
of a rotting gusset, but
I think this comes close
enough!

Bingo!! Three bedrooms, one very large lounge diner, a nice sized kitchen, one en-suite and one large separate bathroom AND a parking space in the garage under the building. The only downside was the smell like an an old age pensioner's rotting gusset in the hallway by the second bedroom, but we decided that we could live with that as it was likely coming from the rug in the hall but we could buy another and put that one in the storage room we also had, adjacent to the garage space. The estate agent didn't speak a word of English, so in the car on the way back to the office, we were deciding how much we could ask the landlord to reduce the rent by and then we would snap it off him. Our driver received a call from his wife. She had another couple with her who wanted - nay, were desperate - to see this perfect flat. Bugger!!


I don´t think that JL and I have made a decision as quickly as this before. He literally shouted down the phone at this woman that we were taking the flat and under no circumstances was she to send any pond scum round to set foot in what was now to be our new home. Actually, when we got back to the office, the couple seemed quite nice, but that's not the point. It's perro (dog) eat perro in this Spanish world at the moment and so we found ourselves there and then with a new address. Paperwork was hurriedly completed and then the hard work began..............telling my in-laws!


Was anyone hanging on for the sex that I promised at the beginning of the blog?? Well, when we got back to the flat for the first time after we'd been with the estate agent, there were a couple of cats hard at it in the garden behind the flat. Phwoarrrrrrrrr!

Poor Bernard the cat was furious,especially as he'd told Tiger that those days
were behind him now and he was being faithful to his beloved Frou-Frou

Tune in next time for tales of derring-do with the furniture removers and I'll try not to keep you so long this time.

Episode 24: A rose by any other name

I thought I would take a little time out from the usual disassociated bile of bilge that I spout, to bring you some of the more interesting things that I notice day in and day out in this pallid, doom-laden countryside I now call my homeland (mi patria). Before I go on, I do need to let you know that this blog is rather heavy with pictures, so I'm only uploading the small images. You can click on each individual picture to make it larger and see it more clearly, then just click your browser BACK button to come back to this page. Of course, you may find something infinitely more interesting to do in which case just go off and do that instead. I did.........it's taken me 16 goes to start writing this damn thing!!

The first thing that strikes me about this place is their obsession with old fashioned ladies names. For instance, wherever you go, there seems to be no lack of Fanny. Joyería Fanny (or The Joy of Fanny as I like to call it), is based in the little town down the road that I am going to be living in, in a couple of weeks time. Yes, at the tender age of 48 and 49 respectively, we're flying the coop, but more of that in another blog. My mother-in-law's reaction alone could take me more time than I have tonight.

The second Fanny was a rather manky looking hairdressers with an equally manky looking sign, I do need to tell you that the black bits on the picture are from the sign and not the bad photography. I looked through the window. Let's just say that you wouldn't want this particular Spanish Fanny giving you a blow-dry and just leave it at that!

Then you have Mildred the cake and a rather fetching looking hair mousse. Who fancies a head full of Nelly?? I mean, who in their right mind would be asking "Esperanza, can you pop down the local supermercado and get me some more Nelly? I've just spumed me last bit!"

Even the designers have old-fashioned names. Witness the shop below, 'Decoraciones Gladys'. Hardly Sir Terence Conran now is it? Imagine the scene.............

"Ooh Cuchi, I love what you've done with the curtains; how they clash so with the carpet, rugs and three piece suite"

"Oh bless you Immaculada. And it's all thanks to Gladys"

"Who would have thought that a near blind nonagenarian could have done something so cutting edge as this" etc etc etc.

I really must stop with this imagining lark. You see, I have a new imaginary friend, but she's Spanish and I don't understand a word she says. She encourages me to talk rubbish........like I need encouragement!!

Moving on from old ladies' names, the Spanish have a rather unhealthy obsession with wind. No José, I don't mean you........but if the cap fits....! Anyway, judge for yourself. Would you fancy eating these sweet treats (right) that we found in the supermarket the other week? 

Fartones!! They come in a pack of 5, apparently. Then there is the street, which is named Mauricio Farto Parra. Even the Spanish laugh at this, although bless them, they have no idea why. Poor souls! There is something about farts in this country though. We were sitting having lunch yesterday with a friend of ours, when a large white van went past with the name FARTO emblazoned on the side. It's a shame! I mean, imagine the humiliation of learning English and realising what your name actually means and then having to go and drive a van with it written down the side in 4 foot high letters, knowing that 33% of the local population have been laughing at you for the past few years?!

............and while we're on the subject of names, apart from the fact that I know of someone whose surname is Bastardo, you really wouldn't want to be called this would you??

Before anyone tells me otherwise, I do know of the story of the late English conductor Sir Thomas Beecham, who, after WWII, heard about the singer Marta Fuchs and sent an agent to Germany to assess whether she really was that good.

Bearing in mind that telegrams were expensive to send and people used as few words as possible, the Telegram came back to Beecham:
"Fuchs wonderful."

Beecham's prompt reply:
"Undoubtedly, but can she sing?"

And then we come to this little wonder. It's a place that sells DIY stuff and also offers designers to help you plan your dream home. The term 'Indian Giver' is used to describe someone who gives a gift and then sometime later, wants it back. Presumably with Chav Givers, they decorate the house in Burberry colours and then some time later, come back round and rob it all from you?





I decided to split up the parts of the body in this blog, as you can have too many unsightly bits in one place, but we're back. On our way back from England in the New Year, we flew via Madrid. We decided against the snacks in this cafeteria, but would you want a hot brown drink & sausage roll from a Madrid ARS?


Then, on our recent trip to the south, we came across this particular shop..............

Now, you may think that it's only mildly funny and to be honest, it's not the best picture I have on here today. It made me smile so I took a picture, but only because it reminded me of this shop (below left) that we saw in Uruguay when we went for a day trip there a few years ago when on holiday in Buenos Aires and this bar (below right) in Santiago de Compostela

As I always say, it pays to advertise. Go on, get yer titters out missus!!

And so we come to the last bunch. Menus always make me laugh at how well things have been translated and this one was no exception. These people have literally translated their menu, presumably using the Google translator and it's come up with these efforts; broken eggs and poor potatoes anyone??

For those lovely people out there who came to Prague with us that year the 12 of us went, you will doubtless remember that menu with the delights of "Collops like a truckwheel" on it, which sounded more like something you would see in an A&E department......."Ooh doctor, me collops are the size of a truckwheel!!" Sadly, I didn't have a camera with me, but I do have witnesses, although not to the size of my collops you understand.

And then you have this calculator, designed by a man called Alex Bog. Why? It sounds like a name straight out of "Carry On At Your Convenience".

I hope you've enjoyed my little trawl through the wonderful world of names, knowing full well that there are loads more out there waiting to be discovered, but I couldn't leave you without a couple of corkers. 


The first one is the name of a little village within a short drive of the village we all stayed in for the week when José and I got married in 2006 (yes, it will be 6 years in October). Anyway, here's a picture of a rusty old Cuntis sign and just to show you I'm not making it up, here's the shot from Google Maps to show you where it is. There are lots of jokes I could make here, but in the interests of decency - that and the fact that my mother will be reading this - I won't. Except to say that it has a reasonably large immigrant Brazilian population!!! Apparently!

My final picture isn't from Spain at all, but I really couldn't miss this one out. You may think it's hard to beat the previous picture for names, but you would be wrong. This picture was taken when we went on a day trip to Lantau Island when in Hong Kong one time. We went over to Lantau on the ferry and waited for the bus to take us to the giant statue of Buddha they have there. Whilst at the little bus station in the little ferry port, we were reading the signs at the ends of the various bus lanes to make sure we chose the one we needed, but were VERY tempted to eschew our trip to the Buddha and go here instead.....

There's not a lot I can say to that. Sweet dreams! 
xxx


By the way, Jane, can you email me please as I have no way of contacting you now! Thanks x

Episode 23: ....but it's so much nicer to come home???

OK. Massive apologies for the huge length of time between these blogs, but I sort of left you on a cliffhanger and like all the best cliffhangers, they are best left for a length of time. So you see, there is method in my madness. That and the fact that these 60 hour weeks we're currently doing are not conducive to  actually finding the time to write this damn thing! So where were we........? Oh yes, we were leaving the Stalag we had stayed in overnight outside Madrid and heading towards the south coast of Spain - and I (mis)quote "....surely nothing could go wrong?"

The 1912 Titanic 'Fun Run' was a disaster, as the organisers
forgot to put numbers on the runners vests

Well in fact it didn't! We had a lovely week and came home the following Saturday, relatively unscathed. I know, I know, it's called dramatic licence and as the author of this gossip column, I can do and say what I like. If you want drama, go watch "Downton Abbey"......but ignore "Titanic". Sheesh! I was watching it and shouting at the TV "Sink already!"


Mind you, there is no such thing as an easy week in my life and there were a couple of little mishaps that are worth mentioning. The villa itself was gorgeous and as you can see from the pictures, high on the mountainside looking down on the common people of some little town or other. We didn't go as it was beneath us. Beneath us!!! Hey.......do you see what I did there?!?!? 

One finds the quality of the air is so much better at altitude,
when a poor person hasn't breathed it in first

Anyway, it was lovely. So, on the Saturday after the agent had shown us in and left us to it, we went grocery shopping. Not 10 minutes after coming back from the supermarket, I opened the fridge door and the handle broke off in my hands. I mean, I'm used to tugging hard, but I've never had one come away in my hands before. So there I stood, holding this broken handle and wondering what other delights the week had in store for me. Don't forget, this was only Saturday night and our deposit money was already half gone on this........until I saw resin on it from where someone had mended it before; or at least that's what we told the agent. We went and bought some resin, glued the handle on and hoped for the best. We never used the handle for several days, remembering to open the door further up, but one day I plain forgot and off it came again. We left it off and on our final Saturday, showed the agent where the "previous" resin was that obviously meant someone had mended it before and not said anything, the bastards! 

That reminds me, I must order the bouncy castle for
José's 50th birthday party next year

In terms of the deposit, the rest of the week passed uneventfully with not even one broken glass, until the very last night there. Sitting out on the patio by the pool, we used the two wooden chairs that were outside, but one of them was very rickety. Being the larger one of the two of us (AKA fat), I never used that one and always sat in the one on the right. Earlier on that Friday, José had moved his chair out of the wind and into the little bit of sun we had that day, which meant that HIS chair was now on the right. Going out after dinner for one final look at the lights in the little town, I forgot the chairs had been swapped round and plonked me fat arse into my 'normal' right hand chair and it just splintered under me. And I do mean splintered. In my defense m'lud, I'd not sat in it all week, but yes, my curvaceous body was too much for it and it gave way. As we looked at the pile of firewood where once there had been a chair, our immediate thought was to chuck it, get another one out of the cupboard and hope that no-one would notice, but being honest people, we decided to come clean to the agent the next morning. 


It's amazing what a good night's sleep can do. The next morning, I awoke really early with this chair on my mind. As did José. Shoving it into the boot of the car, I found myself driving down the mountain into the little town below and dumping said firewood into a bin in a back street where no-one would look. I then drove back, we put another chair in it's place and acted like nothing had happened. I'm sure people the length and breadth of Britain heard my sigh of relief when I got the full deposit back, along with a message from  the lady who owned the place saying how terrible it was that some people had mended the fridge door and hoped to pin the blame on others and not to worry about it. How kind of her, we thought!!!

José took so long setting this picture up that pieces of me were
actually dropping off in the cold water as he clicked the shutter on the camera

As you can see from the lovely pictures, we had our own pool and I do love a villa with a pool. It makes me feel just that little bit more special to think that this pool is mine and that no elderly woman will be in there in her whalebone all-in-one and, when in need of a pee, will be thinking "Oh sod it Muriel, it took half an hour to stuff this lot in this cossie, so I'll go where I stand." So, I know that we went there at the beginning of April and I knew the pool would be cool, but I don't mind cool water because once you move around a lot, you warm up. I decided to test that theory and jumped in. One very quick length of the pool later, hypothermia was already setting into my extremities and out I got, looking more shocked than if Lord Sugar had just popped by in full drag and asked me about felching (look it up - it's not pretty!). The trouble with having your own pool (or piscina) is that it just looks so inviting, so each day, like the goldfish that can't remember what day it is 5 seconds after he's read the calendar, I tried it again. After about the fourth day, I did actually stop and didn't go in again, proving that even morons can learn something if you tell them often enough


And then there was the small issue of our sleeping arrangements. When we got there, we found that the main bedroom had a waterbed in it. Not only a waterbed, but a heated waterbed. It was like sleeping on top of a moving bath. We thought that it could be fun but to give you some idea of exactly how it was, watch this.............

I spent many nights being tossed into the air each time José turned over and no, before you make any jokes about that, it wasn't fun. Tossing is best left to Pancake Day. There aren't many people who can wake up in a morning and acknowledge they feel seasick whilst remaining landlocked. Even now I think I'm going to have to have a lie down as I can still feel the sensation, although my nightmares about being on the Titanic have thankfully stopped.

Actually we did take some ECT electrodes, a
bargain for €5,99 from El Corte Chino,
although after a couple of shots, 
José now thinks I'm called Enid

Of course we were there to work and work we certainly did. We don't travel lightly and took one small wheely case and one briefcase full of electrical equipment - laptops, cables, iPads, iPods, ECT electrodes (just checking!) the film box we have with millions of films on, so that we had something to watch, oh it was fun. We looked like we worked for some sort of telecommunications company at one point. Initially we sat outside in the blazing sunlight of the weekend, but this gave way to stronger winds and a cool breeze, so we dacamped to the lounge for the rest of the week. It took us about three hours to connect all the electrical stuff, so once we'd moved back inside, that's where it stayed. We started out with massive enthusiasm and worked constantly for the first few days, but then we realised we needed a break (known as "can no longer be arsed") and so tailed off on the last few days and went out visiting other places instead. Not that it mattered as we completed one online course and made huge inroads into the other one, so things are moving on.

The 'Coruña Cliterati' at our 2010 Christmas Party.
Unsurprisingly, it was an all-you-can-eat buffet!

The following Saturday brought us back to reality and life with the in-laws again. Much as we love them - and we do, make no bones about that - we love our independence too and this holiday made us both realise how much we miss it. We need these online courses to work so that we can find our own place and if they don't, then it's back to prostitution for us both once again. Which reminds me, I must buy some more mayonnaise.

_________________________________________________________________________________

In memory of Jackie Parkinson
RIP chuck xx

Episode 22: It's so nice to go trav´ling

Still no sign of a winning
lottery ticket!

So, having managed to work ourselves into the ground and with the promise of loads more students coming when we get back from the Easter break, the lovely Jose and I have taken a little holiday of our own. We can't afford it and it's all thanks to Mr. Mastercard and his girlfriend, Lisa Visa that we're here at all, but with petrol paid for and groceries bought, we have settled into life in a rather exclusive villa near Alicante. Of course, you might know that poor as we are, I wouldn't settle for any old crapola and this is certainly not that; but more on our luxurious surroundings at another time.

Dear Floella! I still remember our last
conversation. I accidentally stood on her
foot whilst queueing for crudités and
she said "Get off me you fat bastard".
Oh how we laughed about that

We decided that we would try and fly down south as the last trip by car was a long one and we'd already done enough working as it was. After a short look at the internet, mainly with eyes wide and mouth agog, (or was it the other way round.......I never did truly find out about agog) we decided that we would drive. I mean, what is so bad about the car after all? Let's face it, airports are vile places full of vile people with their vile offspring, travelling to vile places; like Benidorm for example. They get stressed, they shout a lot, they argue, they get angry and threaten to punch you when you stare at them for wearing three inch platform heels with blue socks and a micro skirt.......which I still maintain wasn't a good look for José. You see, some years ago I used to work for a medical repatriation company and that rather spoiled flying for me. What used to happen was that, should you or some other common member of the public break something whilst on holiday, like a nail or a hotel vase, if you needed a nurse to escort you home due to either airline regulations or medication recommendation, then people like me would be sent out to fetch you back. The thing is, I only worked for the company I did because they sent me (nearly) everywhere in Business Class. After 10 years, I became rather used to exclusive lounges and sharing nibbles with Floella Benjamin before nipping to New York or flying to Philadelphia. Compare that with the exchange on the flight we took to Florida last year. Jammed in the centre aisle of Proletariat Class on a Virgin flight out of Manchester, we were inadvertently thrust into the midst of a group of middle aged Mancunians and the fruit of their Lidl washed loins. Dinner had been served and cleared away when Donna stood up and shouted - in the broadest Manchester accent this side of Weatherfield......

"Kelly! Kelly? A'Y'orriiiight??" which to the trained Business Class ear means, 'Kelly, are you settling into the flight and quite happy at the moment?'

Now Kelly, who was sitting three rows in front of the lovely Donna stood up, turned back and shouted......"Yeah, aaaahm orriiight", all glottal stops and strangulated vowels, with the overhead cabin lighting glinting off her security tag. Two seconds later, with Kelly having sat back down......

Flaky pastry......very like
dandruff, apparently.

"Kelly! Kelly? D'ya wanna sausage roll", as Donna waved said pastry snack around the cabin, scattering flaky delights everywhere. Still, it gave the man in 33C with the terminal dandruff a little cover for a while as he could blame Greggs.

Kelly stood up one more time and turned to face back........"Nah aaaahm orriiight ta". Having firmly established for the second time in two minutes that she was alright, Kelly sat back down to watch the in-flight movie whereupon Donna tucked into three sausage rolls with gusto. Donna was already slightly on the larger side and three sausage rolls I thought was pushing it a little. I swear the plane kept banking more to the left after this.

So, we decided to drive once again and in order to make the journey a little more palatable, bought a hotel room online on one of those cheapo last minute online doodahs. As they were cheap, we settled on something a little more exclusive than the description of one hotel, "room, bath, bed......what more could you want?" and went to somewhere that promised individual log cabins, a whirlpool bath, lounge area, buffet breakfast and complete comfort. Their motto should have been "This is Spain, so be grateful 'cos one out of five ain't bad" because yes indeed, we did have our own log cabin. That was where all similarities to the online blurb ended. 

When we arrived there, we were told what number our cabin was and started driving past all these beautiful looking cabins on the way to ours. Gradually we got further and further away from these buildings until we came upon the Crossroads Motel of log cabins, in the wilderness next to a field of sheep who, for some inexplicable reason, were wearing cowbells. Can sheep have identity crises I wondered? <WARNING: flight of fancy coming up>


"Mum, I'm sorry but I've something to tell you that you won't like. I've always known I was different, but.....well......I'm a cow"
"You're a cow??? Have you met your Aunt Bertha? I'm telling ewe, that woman is the bitch-cow from Hell after she had sexy time with your cousin Baaahbara's boyfriend."


Anyway, we opened the door and found no lounge and no whirlpool bath, only two beds and a bathroom with no curtains. When we stood in the shower, the people across the way could see right in. Thankfully for them, there were no people across the way!

Sadly, there was no Amy Tortuga de Agua (or Amy Turtle for you non-Spanish!)

Disappointed, we plugged the computer into the TV and watched The Muppet Movie instead (very funny and well worth it if you're interested). I went for a shower before bed and it was one of those all singing, all dancing jets everywhere affairs. I pushed every conceivable knob going (no rudeness please, I'm typing this on Easter Sunday, the Holiest day of the year!) Well, there were jets flying everywhere including places that jets shouldn't go......although strangely, I did feel like smoking a cigarette afterwards for some reason!!! Anyway, after a couple of minutes of knob twiddling, I decided to do what I'd gone in there for and soaped up. Just as I did so, the water went cold. Very cold! There was nothing for it; I couldn't get the water to go hot again as hard as I tried and so it was a case of gritted teeth and lots of gasping for air as I washed the soap off, which given this body, is no quick process!

Cold Shower. You should see the pictures
I rejected! Phwoooaarrr!

Once back in the other room, I explained all this to the lovely José who tried to run the water for his shower. Cold! Cold, cold, cold! He rang the reception to complain, but the recorded voice on the end of the phone told him that this number was not connected to anywhere, so bugger off. He phoned the concierge; same woman! He phoned the restaurant, the switchboard and in desperation, the local Chinese restaurant (just checking to see if you're still awake!?) - same voice........this number is not connected to anything so tough titty. Every single number we had listed in that room was connected to this zorra ("bitch" - I'm on holiday so it's only essential words this week) who said the same thing each time. Welcome to Spanish customer service!

One sleep later and the fastest shower in the world for José  (yes, it went cold after about three minutes, but he was prepared and didn't twiddle a single knob whilst in there), we drove back up to the main building for our buffet breakfast. We were greeted by an empty room, one barman who looked like he'd lost a euro and found 5000 pesetas…….and no breakfast. Presuming that we would be sent through to another breakfast room, Jose told him our purpose for being there. The reply was

"Si"

A croissant, earlier today

"Si, what?"

"Si, you can have breakfast here......what do you want?" 

"We want a buffet"

"You can have pastries, meat, cheese..........." his voice tailed off through sheer boredom
"Can we see them?"
"They are pastries.......why do you want to see them? It's not a beauty contest!"

"I'd like a croissant please" said the lovely José

"You can't have a croissant because the woman who bakes them has only just arrived and they're not ready" (Honestly, you couldn't make this up!)

"Well, we'll have some pastries thanks and coffee and juice and then we're getting the hell out of this place"

That was it! We sat, miserable at the whole experience we had been looking forward to, eating muffins, drinking coffee and desperate to get on the road for Denia.

Once breakfast was over, José went to leave the cabin key and check out. When he got to the place there was no-one there. After standing around for a moment still no-one came, so he popped the key on the desk, which promptly fell on the floor behind, and left. So, we got in the car and started the 4 hour drive to our lovely temporary home in the mountains for a week. Surely that would be perfect...............?

Episode 21: Coming of Age

This is just another excuse to print
a further picture of the fabulous
Hylda Baker

So, we've established the fact that we´re not on a rollercoaster and we've also established the fact that Hylda Baker was a comedy legend (just checking to see if you were concentrating!). Now it's time for an update.


After the ups and downs of the last blog, several people wrote to me to say how they´d been concerned at how the lovely José and me had been feeling and offered all sorts of help from putting us in touch with people to food parcels of marmite and pigs trotters, although not together you understand. I have to say that we were so touched that so many people took the time out to write and if I've not written back to you, then please accept this mention as massive thanks from us both. To those of you who didn't write, why not? Can't you see we were in emotional and financial pain here? I mean, the world´s economies may be in crisis, but surely you could spare us a couple of coppers? Tight buggers!

José's favourite, the tried and tested
Vaca 102c, 2009 model

Anyway, the Bonus company contacted us to say that the last offer had gone so well that they were going to repeat it on the following Monday, which was an even bigger shock - especially to José who has to teach all of these people. And quite frankly, with all this extra paperwork to process, these nails won't file themselves. Well, we decided that we would allow it to go ahead and in the end we only bagged another 7 people, making the grand total of 44, which was fine. I really shudder to think what could have happened if we'd managed another 37. We could have been the world's first 24 hour English school. Well, all the business books tell you to have a Unique Selling Point, although they don't mention if the use of a cattle prod on barely awake students at 3.30am is acceptable.

Get a room boys!

Bonus over, the great Spanish unwashed started to contact us.........and trust me, in the warm weather we've been having, some Spaniards have been so unwashed they have their own eco system. Thankfully, our students (so far) appear to be a fragrant bunch, because quite frankly, you wouldn't want to be hammering home a tricky collocation downwind of a putrid armpit.


The other chance we took on the weekend before the Bonus came out was an advertisement in the local newspaper, La Voz de Galicia ("The Voice of Galicia"), which is an easy lesson this week as I can't be arsed! We were advertising for nurses; not because we're ill and in need, but because we want to teach them English in order that they can leave the country and work in the UK. This is actually all part of a master plan to empty Spain. Nurses first and then next year, we are going to start on Steeplejacks, jockeys and the woman who irons the blouses for the 9 o´clock newscasters.


At the time of the advertisement, we didn't have two spare Euro's to scratch our collective arses with, as one of our customers still hadn't paid us. It seems that it is a crime and/or a sin to mention money to people who are buying a service here in Spain. They can come and have lessons, but if I am to remind them of the fact that they need to pay us, it's slightly more shocking than if I peed up the Pope's frock live on national TV. And it's always the ones with the money who wait as long as possible to pay. Anyway, money eventually came in and a week later, we risked it all on this advert.

Places are still available

Result!!! We wanted three nurses from the ad and in fact, we have had four pay us in advance, with the possibility of another one or two before the course starts on 16th April. I don't look at them as nurses though, I look at them as €xx per month for the duration of the course, which is 8 months. Whoo hoo!!


It's amazing just how much one's vision changes when owning a business. There is now no such thing as a person. Everyone who walks through the door is money in our account and the possibility of food on the table. Being British though, I do like to maintain the class system, which works as such;


3 - 5 hours of lessons a week elicits a cheery good morning/afternoon, the offer of a hot or cold drink, a little conversation about the state of the weather/economy and a kiss/handshake at the end of the week when wishing them a nice weekend.


2 hours of lessons a week elicits a nice good morning, although this tails off a little if they come later in the day and by 8pm, I may just grunt. I'll make them a hot drink (but only if I've just made one myself) and I will chat to them about what I want to talk about; for example how bad Julian Fellowes "Titanic" adaptation was, who will be the next to be thrown off The Apprentice and whether or not George Alagiah should ever wear a purple tie with a blue shirt. If they have brought me something in the week (for instance, one girl brought us cupcakes this week), then they get a kiss/handshake, but if nothing is forthcoming, they get nada

Coffee and a little message
from the management

1 hour a week elicits no more than a nodded acknowledgement that they have arrived. If they want a drink, I mean really want a drink, I put the kettle on and ask them to make it themselves and I get out the instant coffee we don't like (it looks like Gold Blend and tastes like gold paint). The only talking is "sit there and he won't be long" and I certainly don't touch them. Ever!


So, things started to change a little and then the most amazing thing happened.......someone from the newspaper contacted José to say that they had seen our ad in the newspaper and wanted to interview him for a piece about the school. The following day he set up a telephone interview in which he gave them chapter and verse about what we do, the courses we run and why people should come to us rather than anyone else, all without using the word 'desperate'. The crucial word in this equation is free. This was free publicity and it made sure that the money we had spent on the ad was stunning value. Neither of us could believe our luck. He did consider hiring security as he was convinced that the public would be beating a path to our door after reading this, but it was so expensive. One big burly bouncer was €80 per hour, €95 if they had a criminal record. Even the cheapest little old lady with a lethal umbrella was €35 and she wasn't even the full hour, as she was on diuretics and had to have a toilet break every 30 minutes. As luck would have it, nothing happened and so we bought two chocolate & vanilla muffins instead.

I don't understand a bloody word of it, but apparently it means that our school is dead good!!!

Other sandwich fillings are available

Next week is Semana Santa here in Spain, which is Easter Week. There are places that are open, but no-one can be bothered to work. You will get served, but with more of a snarl than usual, as so many places close down for the week. We have taken the opportunity to close the school and have been given a further opportunity to use someone's villa for the week in the south of Spain. Tomorrow, we're off - egg sandwiches in hand - to a little hotel just south of Madrid, before completing the journey the following day. It's a working holiday as we're developing some online courses, but given the choice of working at home or sitting in the sunshine by our own pool, there wasn't much whirring and clanking of the little grey cells required to come to that decision


Well, it's time for me to go and pack my suitcase and get ready for our jaunt to the south, as it's a quarter past......ooh, I must get a little hand put on this watch!


Buena Semana Santa a todos
xxxx

Episode 20: Life is not a bleedin' rollercoaster

Anyone who says that running a business is easy should be shot. I would have absolutely no qualms about helping them onto the Paradise Express, First Class ticket and all; because it's not! Easy, that is. 

Don't get me wrong. I think I mentioned before that I was under no illusion running my own business would be 'un paseo por el parque' (that's 'a walk in the park' - I thought I would progress to a small idiom this week as you've all been doing so well!) I didn't think that King Juan Carlos and I (or JC as I call him, because it gives him religious delusions) would be sitting down to toast and tea every couple of weeks, whilst the school virtually ran itself. I was ready for the hard work, but the one thing I really wasn't ready for was the disappointment factor. That was possibly the most difficult thing to bear.

Meryl Streep is now in talks to
portray the comedy legend that
was Hylda Baker. 
Possibly

Many of you lovely people know that José and I did not decide to open a school of English because we love people. We don't. In fact, there are days when I can't stand the bloody sight of another one, but I stick to Margaret Thatcher's mantra for when she was meeting groups of world leaders; "teeth and tits dear, teeth and tits". And so, as another group of Conversation English people trudge up the stairs to our little learning Stalag, I pop my teeth in, puff my chest out and turn into the professional what I am. Come to think of it, it could have been Hylda Baker and not Maggie T. But you catch my drift!

Bob The Builder, with his hard
hat & waving his big tool about

In fact, we initially thought of doing up houses here. Despite a recession, small houses were selling, mainly to overseas buyers and so we thought this would be a good way forward. Cue thoughts of hard hats, big tools and enough sweaty, sinewy workmen in tight vests to staff an entire Gay Pride parade. Then we decided we would show ourselves up to be the couple of old leches we obviously are and thought better of it.


The other thought we had, which is far more us, was a small English tearoom. I rather fancied buttering some old Spanish matron's crumpets for her, whilst sharing the latest gossip about HRH Kate, courtesy of 'Hello' magazine. This was right up there as our main choice, until one fateful day, José met with the (now 'ex') Principal of the Sussex Coast College in Hastings (SCCH). He asked José to think about opening up a school of English. Like all men, he promised him the earth, but like most men, it was a two minute wonder. He suffered from Premature Eviction and was ousted from the college just before Christmas last year, having fallen on his sword over some Ofsted scandal.

When I play my Bay City Rollers CD,
my pussy goes mad

We fell for it though, hook, line and sink-plug. As you will see from our wonderful (ahem!) website, www.thenewschoolofenglish.com (does anyone know anyone who would like to write us a new Word Press website for about £20, let me know!), it clearly states that we are in collaboration with SCCH. We-e-e-e-e-e-ell, we are in contact with them by email. And very nice they are too. Georgina is being chatted up with Derek in IT and thinks she might like to go out with him, but won't let him get to second base on a first date because she's thinking of wearing a linen blouse and you know how badly they crease. Amy thinks her cat has mental health problems because it goes into a frenzy every time she plays her Bay City Rollers CD's and Ron has had his ingrowing toenail removed last week and is relying on mother to do everything for him at the moment. All very lovely, but it doesn't help us one little iota. Since July we have been asking for publicity materials in order that we can advertise the International Baccalaureate here in Spain, but as yet, we have received nothing. Nada! There are other issues, but I won't bother you with them. The point is, we are not able to fulfil our full earning potential at the moment and that is SO frustrating.


Then there are the Bonuses. Again, at the risk of repeating myself because I can't think of anything new to write, I have mentioned the Bonuses before, but because I can't think of anything new to write, I will mention them again. We work with a site called Let's Bonus, which is similar to Groupon in the UK, should anyone know anything of them. Basically, companies offer stuff at a very reduced price and the great Spanish public buy it online. We then spend the next xxx number of weeks and months fending them off, as they try to get something for nothing. When their Bonus is over (and it's up to us on the promotion how long it lasts), they have to pay the full price if they decide to stay. We've quickly learned that not as many decide to stay as we would like, which means that we slog our guts out for weeks on end for little reward and then they bugger off.


Naïvely, we thought that once we'd hooked them in, they would be so grateful to us for the hard work we put into our lessons, they would want to stay with us. How wrong we were. Some have stayed and to those people we say this. We love you. In fact, we love you long time!!! Anytime you want to come and use us sexually, you are most welcome. (I mean, there are a couple of right munters in there, but needs must). Mere words cannot convey our gratitude to these lovely people.

Our lowest point came about three weeks ago. We ran a Holiday English course through the Let's Bonus site and thought we had learned the lessons of our previous promotion. This course is for three months, so the first month was significantly reduced and the other two were at full price. It was very clear in the promotional ad that people buying the first cheap month needed to complete the whole course and we also made sure we repeated this to everyone when they started. They all nodded their understanding and agreement and the 14 people who came were all good to go. Three weeks ago, the end of the first month was up and one by one, nearly every single bloody one of them walked out and said they weren't coming back. Only two people stayed. The same week we lost several other people who were at the end of their Conversation Class Bonus and who also left. Our projections for who would stay were massively reduced and we were bereft.

Dear Ronan. Life is not a bloody
rollercoaster. you pillock. Mark x

Now, let me get one thing straight. This is not an emotional rollercoaster and NEVER will be. I loathe that expression. If I hear one more person on the TV mention that "it's been an emotional rollercoaster", I will not be responsible for my actions. Some things just get my goat, like Chico in "Dancing on Ice", my current Spanish teacher and having to clip my toenails every so often. This expression just happens to be on that list. 


No, what it is, is a bleedin' nightmare (and that's the clean version). Sitting there watching as next month's money walks out the door, never to come back is soul destroying; especially when we've put so much effort into working with them and their wallets in the first place.


Driving home this Monday night, José and I talked about a worst case scenario. Interestingly, we are still bringing in more money than last month and our client base is building, but it's slowed down and there is going to be a point where growth needs to speed up a little or we will have to rethink our whole operation here. In the car, we decided that we could continue, but we may have to rent somewhere a little less central in order to reduce overheads etc. It could be done. Feeling a little buoyed, we went home and cheered ourselves up by looking at common people on the TV via "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding".

Calling Gloriiiaaaaaaaaaaaa

What a difference a day makes! On Tuesday, after my Spanish class with the Oberleutnant María, I found several emails on my iPhone from people who wanted to come to the school, which surprised me. The thing is, last week, we sent another Let's Bonus promotion through. The woman we deal with from the company (Gloria) always tells us when a Bonus is about to run, but this time she didn't, so it came as quite a shock. My idea was that, as we have lots of classes with just one person in, José was already working hard so we may as well make more money from him by putting more people into each of these classes. And these are classes that people want to stay in. They are classes where people study for quite a long time, either for some certificate or other or because they want to learn the language and need the time to do so. In other words, classes that cost money; money that José and me are happy to take off them without having to rifle through their jacket pockets in the coat rack.

My Facebook update for the (Tues)day was "I'm speechless" and for once, I was. The day before, we were considering the possibilities for an exit strategy, should one be needed. Today, we are knee deep (or in José's case, waist deep as he's only 5'6½" tall!) in new students, with more on the way. We had hoped for about 8 or 10 students. We got 37! I'm not on a rollercoaster but Monday night was certainly the Ghost Train and today, I appear to have moved to the Fun House. Goodness knows what tomorrow will bring but right now, I'm off to butter my own crumpets.