My Week: Constipations
Ruth Kaye, who is teaching English in Barcelona, meets a class of eight-year-olds who warn her that they will have "constipations'' on mid-year test day.
Sorry for not having written for a long time but I am busier than ever. I have had to take on an extra private student at a crippling 8 o’clock in the morning start, two days a week...made worse by the fact that she croaks insipidly. She sounds as though she´s about to die even though she must only be in her 40s..
I reckon she´s not getting enough iron in her diet or she has the heating on too high or something. Actually I have to strip off to my underwear when I teach her because I find her apartment so hot and she asks to finish the lesson early or not have it at all, even though I have made the effort to teach her when I would rather be in bed or enjoying a leisurely breakfast or an invigorating swim.
I think she will have to be tippexed off my timetable soon! At least she pays me, even though she hardly ever uses the time she’s paid for. She has never done any homework or revised any of what we have studied.
The eight-year-olds in the classes I teach are cute. They seem to know what is expected now and cooperate quite enthusiastically, although I do have a few problem children who remain a mystery to me. I had to give them a mid-year test last week. They told me they would have ´constipations´ on the day of the ´controlla´ as they called it. I have no idea where they heard the word constipation. I didn´t teach it to them.
The twelve-year- old class is a nightmare. Most of the students deliberately skived on the day of the test and I have had to ask to see over half of the parents in parents´ evening at the end of term. That should be interesting. I really have no talent at all with teaching children of this age group!
I have finally moved apartments. The new guy who had moved in as a neighbour became unbearable. He is a DJ plays music VERY loudly leaving the door of his bedroom open. Even when people are in the communal area he refuses to close the door or use headphones. He shouted at me when I asked him to turn down the music and told me it was my problem and that it was his apartment too. What about my living space though?)
When we were in the living area together, sitting at the kitchen table, he would childishly shoved my things out of his way to establish the fact that he was the owner of the apartment. Although we had a policy of ignoring each other I tried to convey my incredulity at his arrogant behaviour by chortling to myself. He didn not like this and glared more than usual. Also the landlady had raised the rent by 50 euros, so it was time to move.
My new place is just two minutes’ walk from the old one. It is 100 euros cheaper. My desk is a stool and my chair is a drawer. The drawers have no handles and my wardrobe is tiny. But at least the communal area looks out onto pretty roofs and lets in natural sunlight - a great relief after merely having had a view of a stone wall in the last place!
I can actually see what the weather is like before going out Oh and by the way it has not rained here for a month.
What else? The oven only lights at the bottom and only then if you hold the door in a certain position and stand with your finger on the ignition button for 10 minutes before releasing it. The CD player doesn’t work, nor do the DVD or video. The guy who owns this place has over 100 CDs. It amazes me that he does not know how to play them. He comes from Argentina, and also owns a bar in Barceloneta, the main beach here. He speaks no English but his Spanish is much more distinct and easier to understand than that of my former flatmates.
