Life in the exam factory continues to be difficult with moments of happiness and I think it would be fair to say that the difficult part is slowly diminishing and the moments of happiness or at least not being unhappy are increasing as we adjust to life north of Madrid.
In terms of the day to day obsession with exam results, I would say I am better prepared to deal with it having spent a year in Portugal within a school owned by the same global corporate rapacious bastards as we have here. Sonalee’s last two serious engagements with schools were with those who were not for profit and who did things without thinking of the ‘bottom line’.
I think she is finding the difference more problematic to deal with than me. I am used to this way of working, she has been employed by more enlightened organisations for far longer than I.
Anyway, she is not so happy. I am sanguine. We are also being paid. And we live in a nice house in a nice place. And we get free rail travel to Madrid where we have found the best curry house ever. So…
Enough of work! I hate talking about it unless it is about football. Ah, football! My lunchtime club has expanded into two days per week but been lessened by the fact that it is only the Year 7 girls who want to take part. The year 8 and 9 girls are, apparently, too superior to join in with the lowly year 7s. The year 7s couldn’t give a toss and enjoy each session. I’m with them.
But as much as I am enjoying the coaching, I find myself strangely ambivalent about watching it on the telly – last night’s game featuring Pompey was most definitely an exception – and I am feeling really underwhelmed at the thought of the upcoming world cup in Qatar. In short, I really don’t seem to give a shit about the premier league, the champions league and this farce in the Gulf.
Normally at this point I would be getting my students to do their posters, debating teams and likely winners and generally getting more excited than an excited thing who is feeling particularly excited. But I just don’t seem to give a toss.
I am fed up with the endless hype; the obscene amounts of money swirling around the elite game and the total moral vacuum that the game seems to exist in. Watching Estoril last year in Lisbon was great because they don’t have wodges of cash to splash around and watching Colmenar Viejo (I got it wrong last time. Colmenar Viejo is means old apiary not old orchard) on a Sunday morning is great because it’s a fiver to get in and the café/bar does great coffee and breakfast and we get to watch poor quality footy surrounded by old and young alike who aren’t there for the selfie or the half and half scarf.
Last week I was going to go to Priego to see them play on a Sunday evening but found myself watching CD Toxar – the village team – play in the futsal league against another village. It was great. I learned some new Spanish swear words, had a cold beer at half time for 1 euro and got home five minutes after the final whistle.
The corporate world of UEFA and the corruption of FIFA seemed to be a million miles away. As did the constant entitled complaining of England fans. It has reached the point where I am not even sure I will be bothered to watch the world cup. These are words that I thought I would never type.
So, yeah, last weekend we drove down to the village for four days leaving a very annoyed cat to be fed by Kate and letting Luna explore her natural habitat of the campo. It was lovely. The house is still standing. The roof doesn’t leak. The plaza bar is open still. Jan got Sonalee very very merry. Bar Chico continues to do lovely tapas. And the weather was not what we were expecting at all.
We arrived dreaming of lighting the fire, hot soups and huge jumpers. What we had was shorts and t-shirts. At the end of October. It was very troubling. It was the same two years ago and probably the same last year. The olives that we saw on the trees were tiny and it would seem that the harvest this year will be poor, which is not good news for a village that relies on olive oil income. The campo looked baked dry.
If anyone has any doubts that global warming is happening please dispel them of that notion immediately. Colleagues at school who have been here years have talked about the lack of snow in the mountains behind us and how there is a less and less rainfall each Autumn (October is meant to be the wet month). Global warming is here. All the evidence is in front of you. It is not about to go anywhere either.
Sonalee and I have discussed this at length and we both acknowledge that we do not help as much as we could and that we really should do stuff like install solar panels at home and insulate the roof if it is possible to do so. We also acknowledge that by the time the worst of it hits we probably won’t be around to witness it. And we are also baffled by those who have children who completely ignore what is happening and deny what kind of world they will be leaving for their offspring.
Talking of getting old, I have made a decision. Sort of. Okay, I am thinking about it. As my aging, creaking body continues to change before my eyes I will try to take advantage of it. That I have to put in my teeth and my eyes each morning has become habitual as has the somewhat desperate and pitiful combing of what hair I have left on top of my dome. But what I do have is loads and loads of nasal hair. And ear hair! Each passing year produces more of it.
I am thinking about collecting it after it is plucked. I reckon that I should have enough for a duvet by spring next year at the very latest. Or a cushion for the cat by Christmas.
It is a genius idea and I am proud of it. I just need to convince Sonalee that I can store it all somewhere out of sight. The cat will love it.
But I digress. Our trip back home was so good. It was a reminder of why we chose to do what we did only five short years ago when we left Sri Lanka. The drive there in the dark amidst the chaos of half of Madrid also doing so at the same time wasn’t pretty. Honestly, it was like an exodus of middle class towards their country houses. The embarrassment of not having any sweets on Trick or Treat night will be remembered for many years by us.
We tried hiding when the kids knocked on the door but the guilt and the shame made us answer with our pitiful apologies that we had nothing to give them. One group took pity on us and actually gave us sweets. Even typing this brings back a feelings of extreme embarrassment and shame. What kind of people are we? Aiyeo.
Despite this, we can’t wait to return at Christmas – with the cat this time. He’s getting a bit porky. Sonalee has put him on a diet, the poor bastard. Work here is work. It isn’t wonderful because it’s work. It is the treadmill that we must all get on. Getting off it for just four days was so nice. To see Luna and the rest of them back where they belong was heartwarming. We even missed the cat. Neither of us could believe it; we missed having the moany little bugger around.
Six and a half more weeks till we get to see mum and Fuente Tojar once more. Can’t wait.
Hasta Luego, inshallah
Ayubowan
Ciao
Paul
PS: Found this the other day. It looks cold but a reminder that they were first and foremost a rock and roll band.