Keeping it Real Madrid

"Oh merciful Jesus, ah'll never drink again ah swear; oh the anguish! Sweet Lord ah'm dyin' now...help me now God! Take me now!"

Admittedly flopping around on my bed, throwing arms wide dramatically and turning up the volume on the "Mah great-granpappy didn't lay down his life for the South sir, so we could be a-colonised by dens of iniquity where high-tone liberals sip their mocha ventis (Hi Starbucks!) and plan to sacrifice the Ah-merica I love on the altar of socialism" voice isn't helping this thrice damned hangover. We went Lebanese and had cous-cous and hummus and shisha with vodka in last night to celebrate the halfway exam mark. I regret nothing.

We're back to life in Madrid which this week has seen some beautiful developments; mainly weatherwise when walking into the open air is cause for gasps and cries of "Heat! Heat!" and a retreat to short sleeves. First sunburn of the summer. Oh yeah...

In fact it is because of this heat that my tutoring job now consists in picking the child up from school and taking him swimming, an activity that both he and I have agreed is mutually beneficial. He gets to splash around with his wee classmates and I get paid to kickback and sip a Coke for an hour. Adding spice to those Wednesday afternoons is the fact that the glassed-off terrace where the parents sit above the pool is directly opposite the glassed-off gym and gentlemen, it's Speedo season. Hello laddies...

But I digress. It's not all fun and games and I eventually have to wean the boy away from distractions and actually get hime to do his homework. This was made all the harder last week by a birthday present from what is now presumably his best friend. A very powerful little bow and arrow set. We had been playing for a while, the flat was like an oven and not knowing how to work the air-con I cracked open a window. Remember this fact.

"Aiiiiii-leeeen, you will be Little John, jes? And I will be Robin Hood!"

"Do I look like a Little John to you? Give me a go..."

"NO! It ees mine! You can be Marry-on"

"Who the hell is that?"

"Marry-on! Marry-on! She ees the lady!"

"Oh, Maid Marion! And no! Sod your Spanish macho gender stereotypes, I want to shoot the arrow!"
(I actually do speak to the child in these exact tones with a little more fiddlesticks than fecks. Other than the swearing it does em good not to be mollycoddled. He loves me for it)

"NO!"

"Ay por dios; fine, verb and noun test, right now or vas a suspender todo and don't even think about coming crying to me!"

"Can I go to the bathroom first?"

"Go."

Now that the outer child is gone the inner child, my inner child surfaces and we reach for the bow and arrow in tandem. We nock the foam missile to the string. We feint a couple of times, whistling the theme of Prince of Thieves, then take aim, pull back the string, let go...

...and shoot the fucking arrow right out the damn window I'd forgotten I'd opened.

Time freezes, it's the window out into the inner well of the flat building. I run to it. I glance down in horror. The window of the kitchen on the floor below is open and I can see just inside, lying innocuously on the black and white tiles, the red and yellow foam arrow. Behind me I can see a ghostly Peter Kay clap his hands to his mouth and cry Mancunian-ally "Ho my God! What you gone and done that for?!"

I don't know Mr Kay. I don't know. I can hear the water running as the child washes his hands. Seconds remain to me. I panic...

"Okay Aiiii-leeeeen, I am here"

<looks up nonchalantly from her position on the sofa with Kindle open at current book> "Oh, right then, ready to get started?"

"Ah-where is my bow?"

"Well, I've just hidden it until we get the work done so you don't get distracted. I'll get it for you when I leave"

And so I do, and so I locate the bow and arrows and bang on time Dad gets home so I put them on his bed, bid them both farewell and run out of that building. The story is that I hid 'em to make the boy concentrate and can't remember where I stashed the fourth. As long as the neighbour doesnt rat me out I'm fine. Guilty, but I was raised Catholic and I can handle a little guilt...

A very good friend came to stay the weekend and we are a divil of a bad influence on each other. The Erasmus curse was in a fine mood so that as opposed to now, where even the cobbles are boiling, it wouldnt stop pissing down the whole time. Still, it meant that we were able to enjoy many a cafe con leche, in particular in a beautiful stained glass Art Deco café on treelined Recoletos. The rain drummed on the roof and I had wrapped my hands around the coffee. Eventually came the realisation that we could put off the wandering for no longer. I unclasped my hands, but the middle finger I had wound round the handle refused to budge...

A ha ha ha, funny loljokes, my hand is stuck, a moment please...

Well, <ow!> this is just a wee bit <bloody hell> embarrassing...

Enough joking,  I can't actually get this damn thing off my finger...

And because a friend will worry with you, but a best friend will piss themselves laughing at your increasingly desperate attempts to prise the coffee cup off your damn hand we spent the next fifteen minutes in peals of laughter until I was free with one last violent tug. Oh Aileen, you so crazy...

So a week of not very much happening really. Well, we partied hard last night and the weather has allowed for some more appreciation of Madrid's beauty, but I want to get some authentic Spanishness in gear. I have wonderful plans involving flamenco and the ever controversial bull fight seeing as the season is upon us.

Until then exams are occurring, halls full of Spaniards scribbling, me laughing at the ridiculousness of my inadequacy. No, actually laughing; I had a giggling fit in the middle of Derecho Procesal because I began commentating on the exam in the style of Peter Kay in my own head;

"Vías concur-sah-les? What the 'ells that? I'm sorr-eh, I ain't got a flipping clue, there's no use looking at me like that Don Silencio of the exam hall. Get this done, get home, 'ave a brew. That's the plan. Let's see now, E-R-A-S-M-U-S, massive capital letters. That'll do. Maybe they'll go easy on meh."

Or then again maybe they won't, I've given up trying to devine the mind of the average Spaniard. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. The AA has a cheery little acrostic for "fear". Face Everything And Remain. Unfortunately it could also be Fuck Everything And Run. Let us let time tell...

 Now I'm off to get a smoothie. No coffees today, for the sun is shining, there are beautiful people nearly naked in the heat, there is a cool little breeze trilling around cheering all the poor overwarm people up. And Madrid is looking ravishing. I might go put my new sundress on and go out and be seduced by her shapely bouelvards and her charming fountains, her dapper terraces and winsome green spaces. Good idea, that woman. And while I'm at it I'll look for some Madrilena wonders not yet explored and so blog research can be my cunning excuse for trailing round licking a Cornetto and humming Mungo Jerry's "In the Summertime."

La vida es bella.

xo