Here in Spain we have a phenominoninom, a phenorem, a phinomoninoy, a thing called El Puente, the Bridge.   It is where a bank holiday will appear on a Tuesday, for example, but many people and many companies also just take the Monday off as well because, what’s the point?  Unlike the UK, bank holidays are not always on a Monday or Friday; their date never changes. So they ‘bridge’ the gap between weekend and holiday with a random day off.

So last week we had a situation where the Tuesday and Thursday were bank holidays and the whole country just said, let’s make it a Puente!  So we had Monday and Wedneday off as well but, for some reason not Friday. 

Anyway, Sonalee took the opportunity to finally get around to seeing her mum and brother and nephews in the UK and I  took the opportunity to finally see my god-daughter and family in France.  The dogs went to a local kennels run by a bloke that I can only describe as laconically competent.   And very Spanish.  The pack seemed fine about it afterwards.

My god-daughter is now no longer the sweet little child of yesterday, she is now the full on 12 years old going on 16 and with the mood swings to match.  Her older brother is adept at winding her up at any given moment and loves doing it.  Her little sister is still the sweet little child we both remember.

Their mum is someone who spent five years in Madrid in her younger days and was eager to talk about it and the things that we were doing.  She was very excited to learn about the things that we had seen and done in our three months here and reeled off a list of some of the cultural highlights of one of the most vivacious cities in Europe.

And my reply was “Well, we go shopping, go for a curry and then we come home.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, really is what we do when we go into Madrid.  True, we did meet one of my ex-pupils from Sri Lanka a few weeks ago and it was great.  He’s such a lovely young man now.  It is weird to think that I taught him eleven years ago.  Bonkers, actually.

But, essentially, Madrid to us means shopping and curry – admittedly an absolutely stonking curry.

Telling this to Igone revealed to myself just how boring I am these days.  Seeing the look of disappointment upon her face hit me with this revelation; I am really dull.

I do nothing that is in any way mildly interesting nor creative.  True, I have decided to study to take the Physics GCSE exam in May next year, which is unusual for 53 year olds I will grant you.  It hearkens back to my really poor ‘O’ level results and a feeling that my grades do not represent what I am capable of and so, with the school paying for it, I will attempt to get a decent grade whilst sitting amongst 16 year olds in an exam hall overseen by my colleagues pacing up and down the hall.  It promises to be slightly surreal.

I am trying to right a wrong from nearly forty years ago when I was a teenage moron.  In order to do that, I really must study more.  I have been a bit slack in the past few weeks.  I really need to get to grips with my LDR’s, Thermistors and LED’s just as a starter.   You know how difficult they can be.

Anyway, a big week coming up.  Next Monday we have our football tournament for girls.  Tomorrow I have to finally select a squad of 12 from 20.  Expect tears and tantrums and not just from me.  I am praying this goes ahead given the amount of desperately needed rain falling at the moment.  The Spanish are a bit like the Portuguese in their aversion to getting cold and/or wet. 

Seriously, things have been cancelled because ‘it looks quite cloudy’.  Can’t get the little darlings of Madrid’s finest even a tiny bit damp.   I look back at my memories of our teams in Sri Lanka playing amidst the deluge of monsoons and grin.   They know nothing.

And then, after the tournament, we will have a few days before we break up for Christmas and the drive home to be in the campo where Luna can be herself once more.  And where mum will join us for a week.  God, it will be so good to see her again even if briefly.  The two of us will continue our project of trying  to persuade mum to get a dog – ours love her, especially Dante. 

And why not?  Everyone should have dogs. 

And cats.  Cats are cool. 

December will bring to a close to our most difficult part of the academic year where we have learned how to deal with the challenges that our new jobs in a new city in a new district and yet another new house have thrown up.  It was the same in Portugal and Morocco for me at least; things will, inshallah, be somewhat easier come the second term and I can, hopefully, be less boring.

Part of that may be the start of playing football again.  I miss it.  I miss it terribly.  In Morocco and Portugal I played once a week with other members of staff and it created a camaraderie that is missing from my life at the moment.  I miss laughing at the screw ups; complaining about the aches and pains the day after and the slagging off of someone deemed to be a bit out of order.  I miss being sweaty and stinky and tired and yet elated at something I did well.  And I really miss being part of a team.  You don’t realise it until you no longer have it.

For now I will remember being upgraded to business class for a 50 minute flight to Bordeaux – “Sir, would you like some cava?”…”Are you kidding? Pour it out now!” – to see my beautiful god-daughter and her family.  It was so nice to catch up and just talk.  And drink great wine.  And eat great food.  And watch football.    And talk just some more. 

And I will look forward to seeing my mum and slobbing around what we call home for a few weeks.  I will have to cook for Christmas Day and it will be nervy since Jan, our friend in the village,  is coming to dinner and she used to be a professional chef.  I dare not screw up the roast potatoes.   We will catch up with our other friends as well and we will wander the campo with four happy dogs. 

I think I speak for the both of us when I say we really cannot wait. 

Ayubowan

Hasta luego, Ciao

Paul

PS:  Oh yeah.

PPS:  And why not?