Eat pub nosh and reminisce
Reading, I sit and enjoy one of the finer delicacies this country has in its repertoire- chips with cheese. Listening with my eyes closed and brain tuned to static, a few words stick in my head and I giggle - just giggle.
I know what I'm doing when my audience question me with their 'having a book is no excuse for being by yourself in a pub - and how can you dare to laugh' irritating smiles. I respond with nothing and reminisce... Twelve, twelve and a half years old, sitting, sticky with summer and sports day in the air, threatening its arrival. I fidget which earns a glare from my principal who is taking the after school Spanish activity class. This is never a good start with any new teacher, let alone Captain Clarke, the brand new leader of our pack. He's disappointed already.
He starts the class in what I can only guess is his usual manner; he conjugates his verbs, rolls his r's and speaks to us, in English, as if he's giving directions to a Spaniard, who can clearly understand what he's saying now that he gives an obvious lift to his voice at the end of every sentence- I guess he thinks it gives ambiance. I embarrass myself further by misguidedly correcting him - something you learn to stop. It seems to give an air of 'steer well clear'! He doesn't like this, sends me to the corner, yelping that I should "respect my elders". Eventually, I'm allowed to rejoin the group.
The last nail in my coffin is hammered in when he can't think of a word. He plunges his face into an open dictionary on the table and gurgles. Everyone finds it amusing and manages to hold back their smiles. I, on the other hand, roar with laughter. Uncontrollably. As a final indignity, snot jets out with gusto and, I fart, audibly, in fact in Dolby surround sound.
This was, as it turns out to be my last lesson with the 'Spanish club'
His office was nice, not as nice as I expected- but nice.