Salsa is a saucy dance

"Small child!!! If you do not open this door then so help me God I will probably just go to the bathroom and weep for a couple of hours..."

I cannot say I will remove your kneecaps and use them to fashion rudimentary marracas because even the most lenient of parents may frown on this excessive/entirely proportional use of violence. This mexican standoff has been going on for two hours now. It's half one in the morning. If his parents return now I will be sued so remorselessly the pennies in my bank account will start to cry. It all started when I wanted him to put his pyjamas on and do three english homework sentences. Then he locked himself in his room and now I don't know whether the silence is sulking or injecting heroin into his eyeballs.

Welcome to the brave new world of teaching english as a foreign language. The pay is so handsome if it were a man it would be George Clooney and I would take it to bed before you could say "Sneaky Spanish tax avoidance" And usually the children are cutie pies; call me "Hai'leen", ask me if I have to go and are almost comically scared of the dark. Also, one will be a complete player when is grown up. I sat watching him pull the infant swag on in the playground. Every small blonde spanish tot got a piece of his chocolate and a smile. Respect, my fake son...

Mind you this reluctant impression didn't stop me patting the smallest tubbiest chica and saying absentmindedly, "Don't worry, their looks will fade while you will retain your sparkling wit and good humour which are ultimately more important."   She spills Coke on my dress and offers me her gominollas (picknmix) which I accept thoughtfully. There's little hope....

Anywho, that little babysitting debacle was last night and I am almost completely over the trauma apart from the occasional twitch. And I'm back in Starbucks and on that note I have never really considered the possibility for Starbucks to sue me over their continued appearance in A Cautionary Tale. That or decide it's fabulous for business and generously offer a complimentary cappucino with every thirty coffees purchased! Howard Schultz, if you're reading, call me. Or just call the branch in Plaza Alonso Martinez...I'll be here fo' a while...

Actually coffee's not hitting the stop today; despite the extra shot and experimentations with hazelnut syrup. I'm more in the mood for one of those smoky tabernas in Cheuca. The sky in grey today and because it is a Sunday everything is closed. No milk, biscuits and Sunday paper to be had. And it's a shame because I used to quite enjoy The Times crossword of a weekend. Hang about, that's not creating the right mood. The point is the sky is grey and is trapping a sullen heat and I've just come here by Metro, which would be fine if not for the presence of the duenas again. Those little besuited Spanish ladies who give you the vistazo, a very searching look that begins at the hair on your head and travels down to the height of your heels and back again.

Their disapproval is palpable  but then again its not as bad as the chicos who freely give every woman aboard the carriage a long evaluative stare, mentally place a mark out of ten above your head and carry on. And I mean every woman...even the duenas...as far as I can tell it's not about easing their eyes on pretty girls but sussing out where everyone is on the scale of "I wouldn't kick her out of bed for eating crisps" to "I wouldn't hit that with a long stick." I must say, at least the Brits are damn subtle about things like that as long as they ain't falling down drunk.

I'm sure Freud would be able to tell you why my response to this Spanish scrutiny was to flee into my coffee palace, ensconce myself in the corner and stick "Gin and Juice" on disgustingly loudly in my earphones. Not by Snoop Dogg o'course; rather fantastic hick hop cover by The Gourds. If I had to psycololology myself of course I'd say means of escapism. Not chosen means of course, but the Aloha Bar in Cheuca was closed or I would be in there nursing a Cuba Libre at the bar and desperately trying to find Jose Luis who usually plays the piano so I could maybe persuade him to do that brilliant cover of the Witchdoctor song to cheer me up. But I suppose even the party district has to sleep sometime...

Enough morosity! Lessee what else is going on.. We had a rather full house this week which led to a mad night out on the town and the consumption of churros at six ay em. Considering we started it all with caramel vodka shots at nine (mmmmmmm) I'm amazed the equivalent of St John's ambulance wasn't called to the scene.We turned domestic goddesses and made the most delicious strawberry Victoria sponge and homemade lemonade known to man. Well I say we made; I squeezed a few lemons and my contribution to the cake was getting overexcited and throwing multicoloured sprinkles all over the damn thing. Tremendous fun.

Now I must away with me for verily are there many university works to do because next weekend I won't be in Madrid. Next weekend I will be making the journey back to my beloved alma mater the most venerable University of Cambridge where I shall arrive like the prodigal daughter wearing a hopeful expression and an oversize cardigan with trailing sleeves. Of course this will merit a blog entry and 'twill surely be a wonderful one; why I can feel the excitement now! And apologies Starbucks but there can only be one and it's Cafe Nero for the win! Kings Parade, I'm coming home...

xo