The Lingua-Whore

So I´ve moved from London to Spain to avoid the English weather coz it´s shit. Well mission accomplished. They have storms. I have daylight and outdoor cafes, and though it ain´t exactly bikini weather yet folks, it ain´t half bad.

My honest income consists of businessmen and Spanish soldiers (peace missions only, I do have a conscience...it´s in my handbag somewhere) paying me to chat with them in English to improve their fluency. Fabulous. So that´s what I do. Private lessons with attractive, well paid men who talk with me. I feel a little bit 'rented out' at times, hence the lingua-whore thing. But the conversations are always respectable! (Mostly).

Last month, "Alberto", a beginner, was explaining what is in his house. I was following the text book, but alas, the text book said please explain what is in your bedroom. So there he was, telling me what was in his bedroom. Bless him, he's moving to Ireland in a month or two on a 2-5 year contract to build a motorway. He's looking forward to living in a cottage in a field with no people around (a reaction to Madrid which is full of loud cars and loud people and loud everything). I helped as much as I could, but didn't have the heart to tell him that a) The Irish accent is over so slightly different to mine (tally-ho!), and b) Once the locals find out he's responsible for driving a motorway through their emerald land they'll come after him with pitchforks and drown him in a vat of Guiness. Or maybe I'm being racist.... Well. He seemed excited about the whole thing and will have an interpreter. But to be stuck in an Irish field with no-one around when you don't even speak the lingo......I'm getting Jack Nicholson, an axe and a heap of snow.

Since then I have met a lot of Spanish soldiers who are all rather impressive and not the mindless, bald-headed killing machines that we often picture when thinking of army guys in England. These ones are intelligent officers trying to do good. How lovely. One in particular was a private student, a Sergeant in his late 20s who I talked with every morning for 3 weeks for 90 minutes. We tried to talk about general stuff but we always got onto really deep subjects. We even covered Taoism at one point. (His English was rather good!!) Anyone who knows me understands I like a good conversation over just about anything else. (One person's conversation is another person's lap dance). He was a total gentleman, and to me, something of a hero. I have never met such a kind, open-minded and intelligent man. He left last night for Lebanon - a 5 month peace mission. We met up a couple of times before he went but he was incredibly busy. He did however call me last night to say goodbye. Speaking on the phone in a foreign language is a nightmare. He did it however, just a few hours before catching his plane, and I was so touched I cried. Quite a lot. Like a toddler actually. May have even fallen on the floor. He's promised to send an email with some pictures when he can but said it would be a couple of months before he was settled. I said I thought he had enough to do what with trying to save the world (imagines Captain Kirk) and I quite understood. I also told him to 'stay in' and avoid people with bulky coats. For a guy who loves theatre and salsa dancing I really worry about how he'll survive.

How romantic (she says caustically whilst crushing something in her right hand).

So onwards and upwards (with a bit of a lurch and a stumble). So the conversations continue, and with the Spring weather, some visits to old towns, and later today a visit from a dear friend who's staying for the weekend. Definitely better than working in an office stamping application forms.

Lingua-Whore out.